


Bind My Wounds Tight

by LostInWonder



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dominant!Rick, Grieving Rick, Internalized Kink-Shame, Kink Discovery, Kink Exploration, Light BDSM, M/M, Masochism, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Restraints, Subspace, prison era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 60,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8271475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostInWonder/pseuds/LostInWonder
Summary: After a heated confrontation, Rick and Daryl find themselves slowly stumbling into a relationship neither of them expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is not a completed fic and I'm not sure how far I am taking it, but I do have at least 8 chapters done. For now, I'm just enjoying playing with some prison-era Rickyl fantasies to help me get through the upheaval of season 7!
> 
> I'd planned to finish it entirely and then post, but the show could be off the air by the time that happens, so I decided to just start posting chapters as I finish editing them. At least this way I'll know whether it's something people are even interested in me sharing!
> 
> A big thanks to my good friend [doverit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doverit) (go check out her fics!) for all her advice and suggestions so far :)

Months after Lori's death, Rick was struggling. The prison population was outgrowing his ability to manage. Carl was full of sullen resentment at being barred from going out on runs -in his eyes, demoted to being a kid again. And Daryl had taken to disappearing with Michonne for days, sometimes weeks, on end as they continued their private quest for revenge on the man who'd robbed him of a brother and her a best friend. 

They'd been back for over a week now, another failed attempt to locate the Governor behind them. Daryl hadn't been so surly and withdrawn since right after Sophia, and his sudden coldness and distance left Rick feeling dangerously untethered. 

The hunter had become the only solid wall he had to lean on when he felt like buckling under the weight of so much responsibility. Hershel had his daughters, Glenn had Maggie. But ever since they'd left the farm, he'd had Daryl -even if he'd pushed the more troubling aspects of that sentiment into a far corner of his mind. 

To have him here but not _really_ here was almost worse. And unsurprisingly, there was no getting any answers out of him other than " M' _fine_ ," in that exasperated tone that made it plain that he wasn't, but also that the subject was closed. 

Around noon, Rick heard a commotion outside as he exited the prison, on his way to the communal eating area for lunch. Carol was yelling, "Daryl! Stop!" and he rushed towards the noise, knowing instantly that whatever anger Daryl had been bottling up had finally boiled over and found itself a target.

By the time Rick made it to the scene, one of the Woodbury men was on his back, his face bloodied. Daryl was straddling him, gripping the collar of his shirt one-handed while his other was drawing back in a fist. A few of the newcomers were standing nearby, gaping in shock at the outburst of violence. 

Rick sprang into action, wrapping his arms around the hunter's torso and trapping his arms at his sides just in time to keep him from delivering another blow to the man's face. Daryl grunted and swore in frustration, and it took all of Rick's strength and a harshly whispered "Enough!" in his ear to finally dislodge him. 

Once Rick had pulled him to his feet, Daryl yanked himself free, glaring daggers at Rick before snatching up his discarded crossbow, shouldering it with a violent shrug. He stormed off with a muttered, "fuck all a y'all," before Rick got the chance to even ask him what the hell had happened.

Immediately, the fallen man was clambering to his feet and explaining himself. He seemed well aware of the hunter's position with Rick, the way he was immediately babbling excuses --he'd been talking about Merle not-so-nicely, had no idea Daryl was in earshot, would never have disparaged a dead man in his brother's presence. Rick was barely interested once he saw the man wasn't seriously hurt.

His bigger concern was that he'd caught the distinct smell of whiskey on Daryl's breath. He'd figured Daryl had been a drinker before the end of the world, but that hadn't ever been part of the Daryl he'd come to know. 

Carol threw him a look that said, "Go after him, I got this," and that was enough for him to take off after the retreating hunter.

He found him opening the gate, preparing to leave the prison compound alone and on foot. The guard on duty, another one of the ex-Woodburians, wasn't even attempting to stop him, despite the standing rule that no one went out alone. Daryl, Michonne, and himself were always understood to be exceptions.

Rick considered calling out to him, but decided risking a confrontation in front of the others wouldn't look good for either of them. Instead, he watched him leave and followed along, allowing him a couple of minutes of a head start and a chance to cool down a little. He didn't trust his own tracking skills enough to give him more than that.

When he finally got close enough to catch sight of him through a break in the trees, he was surprised that Daryl didn't seem to note his approach. He was just about to announce his presence when the hunter whirled around sharply, crossbow at the ready and pointed straight at him.

Rick fell back, startled, as Daryl glared at him through the sights.

"The hell you followin' me for?" he grit out, lowering his bow with a sharp, angry movement. 

"I've been behind you since you left," Rick told him. "This the first time you heard me?" 

He could tell by the way Daryl flushed and abruptly turned and stalked off again that it was. 

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Rick persisted, following after him. "Not when you've been drinking."

Daryl snorted. "M' better out here drunk than any of y'all are sober."

"That why you nearly shot me in the face?"

"If I'd meant to shoot you, you wouldn't still be talkin'," Daryl threw back. 

He wasn't slowing down, and Rick was becoming frustrated. He decided to cut to the chase. "I heard what happened. I know why you attacked him."

At that, Daryl stopped, wheeling around on him abruptly."What'd he tell you?" he demanded.

"That he was sorry. That he didn't mean for you to overhear."

"Yeah, he's sorry _now_ ," Daryl scoffed.

"Didn't look like he was putting up much of a fight."

"You comin' to a point?" 

"Those people look to you for protection. Safety. You beat the shit out of someone like that, you're just gonna make them afraid of you." 

"So? Maybe they _should_ be scared." 

Rick sighed, resting his hands on his hips. He could tell Daryl wasn't in the mood to be reasoned with. "C'mon back with me," he said simply. "Let's straighten this out."

"Ain't nothin' to straighten out. Just tell that prick to watch his mouth or he'll be pickin' up his teeth next time."

Daryl took off again, and Rick circled around to cut him off, trying not to invade his space and set off more of his defenses. "I need you to come back with me now," he said evenly. 

"Best turn 'round and take your ass back to yer kids," the hunter growled. "Ain't got nothin' else to say to ya." 

Daryl made a move to pass him, but this time Rick stepped directly in front of him and brought him up short. "I'm not leaving you out here alone like this," he stated, a little more resolutely.

"Yeah? What makes you think you got a choice?" Daryl challenged, lurching forward into his space threateningly.

Rick didn't fall back, familiar enough with Daryl's posturing. "You're not thinking straight right now," he said. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Gonna give me a sobriety test, officer? S'that why you took his side?" 

Rick almost laughed at the the way he slurred over 'sobriety', but there was no playfulness in Daryl at all right now. His blue eyes were dark with hurt, and Rick figured it was something to do with his past, and Rick reverting to what amounted to cop-mode in his eyes when he'd pulled him off the other man. But something told him that wasn't all of what was going on. "I wasn't taking his side," he insisted. "I was keeping you from doing something you'd regret."

"What're you my daddy now?" Daryl shot back with a sneer. 

Rick blinked, startled by the choice of words as much as the contempt in them. "Look," he started in again. "I know something's been bothering you. You need time alone, I get that --"

"You got no idea what I need," Daryl seethed, cutting him off.

Rick blinked, taken aback by the heat in his words. "Daryl -- "

"I was mindin' my own business when that sumbitch started mouthin' off," Daryl blurted, starting to rant. "Don't give a fuck if he didn't know I was there. I hear any a'them sorry pricks talkin' shit about my blood again, I'ma fuck them up. And _you_ ain't gonna stop me!" He stabbed a finger threateningly at Rick to punctuate the last part. 

Daryl's restless pacing and steadily rising voice told Rick he was working himself up for a fight. He'd only seen him drunk a handful of times, but never in such a foul temper. He wondered where this was going. "We'll deal with that when we get to it," he replied, hoping his even tone would placate, as it had at other times. "For now, I just want you to come home."

"Home?" Daryl snorted, as if the word were an insult. "Ya think that's home to me?"

"It's home to _us_ ," Rick countered.

"There ain't no us," Daryl snarled back, the words spat out so bitterly that Rick's mind was hurtled back to those days before the prison, the times he'd caught the hunter's eyes on him when he thought he wasn't watching, looks heated enough to have made him wonder if the attraction he'd started harboring for Daryl might be reciprocal. 

Rick held Daryl's stormy gaze, probing for understanding. 

Daryl seemed just as surprised by his own outburst. He blinked and swallowed hard, and tried to keep his glare from faltering.

"Look," Rick said. "I didn't come out here to argue. You're coming back with me now, end of story." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he cursed himself for how parental that wound up sounding.

A second later, Daryl's crossbow and backpack were discarded on the forest floor and he was crowding into Rick's space again, eyes narrowed into angry slits. "You gonna make me?" he growled. 

The alcohol-fueled menace in his tone sent an unexpected thrill through Rick, with mere inches separating them now. He'd already decided he wasn't going back without Daryl; maybe bringing whatever this was to a head might be just what was needed. "Is that what you want?" he challenged. 

He locked eyes with the hunter, squaring off. There was something wild and desperate behind Daryl's anger, something Rick's body seemed to understand better than his mind. He felt the beginnings of an adrenaline surge. And an erection. 

Then, his ass hit the ground before he even realized he'd been pushed. Pain shot up his back from the jarring fall. Above him, the hunter stalked back and forth like a tiger ready to pounce.

At that angle, Rick's gaze couldn't help but catch on the stark outline of Daryl's cock, rigid against the denim. And his stare must have been way too obvious, because all of a sudden Daryl was lunging down at him, fist swinging, face contorted with rage.

This wasn't the man Rick had seen holding Judith while Carol prepared a bottle, or teaching Carl hunting calls. This was the Daryl he'd first met at the quarry, ready to lash out at any perceived threat without a second thought.

He was lucky to react fast enough to spring up and wrap an arm around Daryl's neck before the hunter's fist smashed into his face, using the leverage to wrench them both onto their sides.

It was all Rick could do to keep Daryl close enough that he couldn't unleash another punch. The hunter's muscles bunched and strained against him, and Rick struggled to contain him without doing any damage -- actually _hurting_ Daryl wasn't his intention.

They thrashed around violently on the forest floor, neither gaining the advantage until Daryl wound up on top, his stiff length pressed against Rick's thigh in a way too obvious to ignore. Before Rick could gather breath enough to say _stop, it's ok_ , Daryl caught him in the gut with a short, sharp blow, and suddenly Rick found himself fighting to keep Daryl's hands off his throat.

Rick felt how out of control the hunter was, likely to cause more damage than he meant to if he kept this up. It took all his strength to get himself out from underneath Daryl and roll him onto his stomach, grateful for the handcuffs he still kept on his belt. Before Daryl could buck him off, Rick straddled his hips and snapped the cuffs around one wrist then the other, the practiced move coming back to him instantly. 

Daryl swore, squirming and struggling between Rick's legs as his arms strained against the unyielding metal bonds. 

A sudden, aching need was pooling in Rick's belly, and he stood up hastily, shaken. He gripped Daryl's arm to haul him to his feet.

"Get these the hell off me, _Grimes_ ," Daryl snarled, jerking out of Rick's grasp the second he was upright. As furious as he looked, his pupils were still blown wide, the tent in his jeans growing more obvious. 

"The hell you waitin' for?" he barked indignantly, voice cracking at the end as Rick hesitated. 

Rick's eyes remained fixed on the hunter as he tried to clear his head enough to speak. That Daryl was so aroused by all this, even as he seemed to be hunching his body over in an attempt to mask it, had Rick reeling.

But the hunter was still wound too tight to trust, practically vibrating with suppressed violence. "I think it's better like this," Rick decided, still catching his breath. "Just til you calm down."

_Reassure him_ , he told himself, _let him know it's not just him_ , but without thinking his eyes slid to Daryl's cock once more, just in time to see it twitch noticeably. 

The hunter lost it again. There was a flash of movement, lightning quick, and Rick's face exploded in agony.

The vicious headbutt was the last straw. Searing pain and the taste of blood in the back of his throat had Rick enraged after pulling his punches with Daryl. He slammed the hunter into a nearby tree, hard enough that his head thumped against the trunk, pressing a forearm across his chest to trap him there with his cuffed wrists behind him. 

Daryl immediately began to twist and struggle, and Rick thrust his leg between both of Daryl's to further immobilize him, not caring at all now that it forced the hunter's erection to grind against him. "Dammit, do you _want_ me to hurt you?" he grit out in frustration, giving the hunter another rough shove. 

Daryl hung his head, flushed and panting open-mouthed. But not before Rick caught a flash of shock in Daryl's eyes that told him he'd just hit on something even more shameful to the hunter than his throbbing length trapped against Rick's thigh.

Rick was just as hard now, something unexpectedly predatory and possessive surging through him. He tamped it down hastily, shifting his weight, fully intending to step back and give Daryl space, give them both a chance to process this, whatever it was. Instead, the change in pressure to Daryl's groin from the rough drag of Rick's leg made the hunter's body convulse suddenly with a startled whimper. 

Rick caught Daryl as his knees buckled, stunned as the hunter slumped forwards, his head landing on Rick's shoulder, his hips twitching jerkily. He felt Daryl panicking, fighting to straighten up and stop the unexpected orgasm rocking through him, and instantly recognized Daryl had no way out of this, no chance to pretend this wasn't happening. 

Without thinking, Rick pulled him closer, pressing his thigh tighter to Daryl's spasming length. He rubbed a hand up and down his back, murmuring a steady stream of, "let it go, it's ok, I got you," as the hunter writhed against his leg, breathing hard into Rick's shoulder as he spent himself in his jeans. 

By the time Daryl had finished, Rick's cock was throbbing painfully. But that predatory urge vanished completely once he felt Daryl trembling with the aftershock and realized how humiliating this had to be for him. 

In seconds, the hunter was recovering his senses with a jolt, reeling back with enough force that Rick knew to dislodge himself immediately. Daryl hurried to explain himself, words tumbling out in a panicked rush as a dark patch soaked through the front of his jeans. "Fuck...s'the booze or somethin', I -I ain't like that, Rick. I _ain't_ \-- "

" _Stop_ ," Rick cut in, and Daryl's mouth snapped shut, lips pressing together in a grim, tight line. Daryl's face was flushed so red it looked painful, his gaze rooted to the ground. Rick couldn't stand to see him like that. He placed a gentle hand on his sweat-slick arm, urging him to turn around so he could release the cuffs. Daryl moved with him numbly. "Nothin' to be ashamed of," Rick told him quietly, though his own mind was a tangle of lust and confusion. "Nothing at all." 

Rick freed his wrists, but the hunter didn't turn back around. He stayed as he was, head down, arms folding around himself protectively. He sucked in deep, ragged breaths, steadying himself.

After a few seconds, Rick dared a hand on Daryl's shoulder, regretting it when the hunter flinched at the contact. He quickly removed it. 

"Better get back," Daryl muttered gruffly. Without so much as a glance, he slid past Rick, snatched up his crossbow and backpack, and took off towards the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who might have read my first attempt at writing smut, Gone Too Far, and thinks the beginning of this one is kind of familiar in set up and location, it's because this fic actually came from my attempt to edit that one and continue it. As soon as I started, it went in a different direction, so I just ran with it and made it a new fic, even though the beginning was similar. I figured it was ok to steal a little from my own work!


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl's brisk pace on the walk home didn't afford for much conversation. The silence hung thick and heavy between them, nothing like the comfortable quiet they usually shared when they hunted or patrolled together.

Rick couldn't help recalling the first time he'd been that turned on with another male in real life. Shane. Back before he'd ever even met Lori, when they were just into their teens. A playfight that had gotten out of hand, and the first time Rick had bested him.

Somehow he'd managed to pin Shane completely immobile, putting pressure in the right spots to go from unpleasant to downright painful if he pushed. He'd begun to grow hard while Shane struggled against him. Gave in to an urge to press his fingers a little deeper into those nerve points. The frantic little noises that burst from Shane had sent more heat to his groin than he could conceal, and he'd released him abruptly, shaken and confused.

But it hadn't stopped him from replaying that scenario with his dick in his hand from time to time, with endings that got more X-rated as the years went on. It was nothing he was particularly proud of, and it certainly wasn't anything he'd ever shared with anyone, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit that over the past year, Daryl had reawakened some of those suppressed urges on occasion, even if he'd never entertained the slightest possibility of something actually coming of it.

Exactly what urges Daryl was repressing he wasn't sure, but he knew one thing --he couldn't let him think this was one-sided. Not when the hunter's face was so fraught with shame and uncertainty. "You weren't the only one turned on back there," he said evenly, once he'd quieted his own nerves enough to risk it. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But you should know that."

Daryl's eyes darted to his, relief so apparent that Rick was instantly reassured. But it only took a split second before the hunter averted his gaze again, settling his face into a mask of indifference. After a few more seconds of silence, he spoke again. "S'it broke?" he ventured. His voice was soft and husky with remorse.

With what had happened, Rick had practically forgotten the throbbing pain in his face. "Just bruised," he was quick to assure him, rubbing off some of the drying blood beneath his nose. After a beat, he added lightly, "All things considered, it was worth it." At the very least, he needed Daryl not to be uptight about any of it. To know it wouldn't jeopardize their friendship. 

When Daryl shot him a sharp, questioning look he managed a grin. "You're comin' back now, aren't you?" he asked innocently. 

"Don't make me change my mind," Daryl grumbled, fixing his eyes back on the ground in front of him.

He sounded more embarrassed than angry, but Rick didn't push his luck. They passed the rest of the short walk back in silence, but enough of the tension seemed to have lifted between them that the knot forming in Rick's stomach had untied. 

Half of him was excited and eager to find out what could come of this unexpected development. The other half was rooted in reality, where Daryl was barely able to look at him now, where he was about to go back to his son and daughter, and all the rest of his responsibilities. Where would there even be room for anything else? 

The second they came through the gates Daryl slipped from his side, shifting his backpack over the stained front of his jeans as inconspicuously as he could before hurrying inside, abruptly sidestepping Carol as he did so.

"Looks like getting him home was more trouble than you thought," she remarked, eyeing Rick's swollen nose with concern.

"Courtesy of whatever bottle he emptied," Rick replied ruefully. "But we straightened it out."

"He's been drinking," she blurted, voice dropping lower, brow furrowing with what Rick figured was guilt at revealing something she thought Daryl wouldn't have wanted her to. "And I don't mean just today," she added. 

"How much?" he asked. He was alarmed that this wasn't a random occurrence and annoyed that, as always, Carol was privy to parts of Daryl that were off limits to him.

"Since he's been back it seems like every night. I mean, never when he's on watch, he's too responsible for that. But I haven't seen him like this since he lost Merle."

The worry in her voice made his stomach flip a little. "Has he told you why?"

"No. That's why I'm telling _you_. Something's been off with him since he and Michonne came back."

"Yeah, I noticed that too," he conceded.

"She was looking for you earlier. Said something about a lead they should've followed up on. Sounds like she's going out again."

Concern for the woman who'd become a valued friend, who'd been the best thing to happen to Carl since Lori had passed, mixed with the fear of Daryl following after her. So far he had, every time. And right now especially, that was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He thanked Carol for the heads up and went to find Michonne. 

As it turned out, she was hanging out with Carl in the garden where they were going to be planting. He couldn't help smiling, overhearing their good-natured argument over some plot point in Invincible, a comic she seemed to enjoy almost as much as Carl did. She brought them back for him whenever she came across an issue they were missing. When she spotted Rick, she made her way over to head him off.

"I'm leaving," she said, voice low to keep Carl from overhearing. "But here. Forgot to give these to you when we came back." She handed him a couple of pairs of good quality gardening gloves, better than the threadbare ones he was currently using.

"You know, you could keep a pair for yourself and give us a hand," he offered. "It hasn't even been two weeks."

"Maybe next time," she said absently, her eyes already on the gate and the open road. "Listen," she added, dropping her voice even lower, conspiratorially, "Don't tell Daryl I'm going. I don't want him out there this time."

Rick tilted his head, questioning. The idea of discord between them seemed unlikely. Neither spoke enough to get under each other's skin, both were competent enough to have each other's backs. They seemed perfectly matched for companionship, to the point where he'd harbored a nagging jealousy, even if he'd never been sure exactly where that jealousy was directed. He wondered what else it could have been then. "Something happen out there?" he pried, when she didn't offer further explanation. 

"No. Nothing," she replied. "I just don't think he really wants to anymore. And if he knows I'm going, he won't let me go alone."

Her answer raised more questions than it answered. "I'd rather the _both_ of you stick around," he ventured.

"No." Her face was grim, her tone final. "I have to." Her eyes drifted towards Carl and her expression softened. "Maybe after."

Rick didn't press. He knew it was a waste of time. She still had her own demons to deal with and she was every bit as stubborn as Daryl when she was of a mind to do something. The last time he'd tried to deter her had failed, just like the time before that. Though he was willing to admit to himself now that it had been just as much about trying to keep Daryl from leaving as well. 

She started off towards the gate, then abruptly stopped to face him again. "Bit of advice?" she offered. "The man's just looking for a reason to stay put. Give him one and he will." She turned on her heel and strode purposefully towards the gate, leaving Rick wondering how she'd managed to come to that conclusion.

* * *

Keeping Michonne's secret wasn't too hard, as Daryl resolutely steered clear of him the rest of the day. Rick gave him the space he seemed to want, since he had no clear idea how to proceed anyway. 

Even so, the hunter dominated his thoughts. Through the constant little power struggles with Carl, who bristled at having to help build a chicken coop instead of being on guard duty, and all the minor concerns brought to him by residents who seemed to think he had all the answers, his mind kept falling back to the only thing that had sliced through months of grief and numbness, that held a promise of something other than fear for his children and uncertainty about their future.

It troubled him though, noticing how Daryl even seemed reluctant to deal with Carol later on at dinner, how he headed off to his cell soon after. He hoped he was just turning in early, worn out from the alcohol and their rough, confusing encounter.

_Tomorrow_ , he thought. _Tomorrow morning, we'll straighten it out._

Much later, in the privacy of his cell, he couldn't help but grow hard remembering Daryl panting and shuddering against him as he came, the panicked whimper that escaped him when he'd realized it was inevitable. But the second he came close to stroking himself off, when thoughts of bending Daryl over his bike, or a car, or splaying him out on his back on a bed, began to flash through his mind, a wave of guilt washed over him and withered his erection like a splash of ice water.

He hadn't even come since Lori had passed. It was as if jerking off would have been the beginning of really saying goodbye, the final acknowledgment that she'd never touch him like that again. The way he'd lost her and all the guilt that went with it was still too raw for him to think about rationally, and he'd thought it was a blessing, that that part of him seemed to have shut down completely.

What happened with Daryl had turned everything upside down. In the moment, it'd felt like something clicking into place, something that felt like it should have been there all along. Now, it unsettled him, with Lori's flannel shirt still hanging on the wall of his cell. Her scent was still in it, barely now, but enough that he still felt the compulsion to press his face to it when the fear of forgetting it hit him. 

A weight settled on his chest, heavy as stone. Air. He needed air, more than there was inside this stifling cell. Judith was fast asleep, but he knew her pattern well enough to feel alright leaving her for a bit. Beth and Carol were near enough to hear her if she woke.

The prison yard was empty and quiet, save for the ever-present rasping throats of the walkers gathering sparsely at the fences. It was easy enough to tune out after all this time. He made one trip around the perimeter, trying to clear his mind enough to head back in and get some rest.

He saw Daryl then, lurking in a darkened corner of the common area, smoking a cigarette. In the moonlight, Rick felt more than saw the moment their eyes locked together across the distance.

As he closed the space between them, his heart rate picked up, the guilt that had driven him out of bed momentarily dispelled.

Daryl stayed where he was, silently waiting, and Rick wondered what the hell to do or say once he reached him.

When they were within arm's reach Rick stopped. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked softly, probing the hunter's mood.

"The fuck could I?" Daryl spat out, flicking the still-lit butt of his cigarette at the ground sharply. His words were slurred, and from the strong smell of whiskey still on his breath Rick realized he hadn't managed to sober up much since this afternoon. He instantly regretted his decision to give him space. Apparently it was the last thing he'd needed.

"Think you can pull shit like that and get away with it?" Daryl crowded into Rick's space, his eyes glittering with rage. "You put your hands on me again, I'll beat your ass into the ground!"

Of all the reactions Rick had been expecting, this was the one he'd dreaded the most. He let Daryl back him up against the wall, knowing instinctively it wasn't the time to push back. "You wanna hit me? Go ahead," he said, as even-toned as he could manage even though his heart was sinking like a stone. 

"Ain't no faggot," Daryl snarled at him, inches from his face. "Ain't no pervert, neither."

The sheer defensiveness wasn't lost on Rick, remembering what had sent Daryl over the edge. But he forced himself to nod calmly in agreement. "I got that," he said. "Won't happen again."

The hunter fell back a bit at that and his face twitched with emotion. "Jus' forget all about it, huh?" His tone was more hurt than pissed all of a sudden, letting Rick know how rapidly his mood could shift while intoxicated. 

Rick held his dark gaze steadily. "Isn't that what you're telling me?" he asked.

Daryl fidgeted, as if he couldn't decide whether or not to stay belligerent. Then his combative posture abruptly deflated, and he dropped his eyes away. "Yeah," he muttered. "Forget it." 

He sounded so defeated that Rick's stomach unclenched, a little more understanding dawning on him. "I could do that," he agreed carefully. "But I don't think that's really what you want."

Daryl swayed slightly forward, "Y'think you know what I want?" It sounded like a challenge and a plea at the same time and even knowing how drunk Daryl might be, Rick felt a need well up in him that he lacked the strength to fight right now.

"I might have an idea," he replied quietly. 

Daryl was still glaring, but there was no longer any threat in his stance. His expression had dissolved into more uncertainty than anything else.

Rick shifted a little closer, nerves jangling with anticipation. "You know, it might've gone differently if you hadn't decided to bash my face in out there."

The hunter didn't fall back. Let himself stay trapped in Rick's gaze, their faces barely inches apart.

Before Rick could second guess it, he grabbed Daryl by the shoulders and spun them both until it was Daryl's back to the wall. Then he went to kiss him.

The second their lips met, it let loose an explosion of lust and aggression, nothing at all like the handful of women Rick had kissed. Daryl dove in with wild abandon, messy and unskilled, all tongue and teeth and bruising force, and it took Rick a few startled seconds to realize that despite the roughness, Daryl wasn't fighting for dominance. His hands went to Rick's hips, gripping so hard they'd bruise, but the whole time he remained pinned to the wall, as if the pressure Rick was exerting against his shoulders was some immovable force. 

A few seconds later they were rock hard against each other and panting for breath.

Then suddenly, Daryl was dropping to his knees and Rick was staring dumbfounded as clumsy hands fumbled open his belt and fly without hesitation. Struck speechless, his hand reached out to clasp the side of Daryl's face and tilt it upwards. The moonlight illuminated an expression that seemed downright foreign on Daryl's normally hardened face. It was eager and almost pleading.

A memory of Lori flashed into Rick's mind unbidden. The last time she'd tried this, an expression much like that on _her_ face. She'd been insistent. Desperate to get through to him, make him start to forgive her, show him how much she wanted to fix things with an act she'd never enjoyed. It had been the last thing he'd wanted mere weeks since the farm, and Shane, and he hadn't even been able to get it up for her. Not with the knowledge that she'd probably had those lips around the other man's cock, a man he'd called his brother, whom he'd loved before he'd ever loved her. A man he still ached for sometimes, when his mind wandered back to their best days.

His dick started going soft and that snapped him back to the present. This was _Daryl_ on his knees in front of him. Daryl who he trusted with his life, and his family's. Daryl, whose constant loyal support had made it possible for him to survive and lead their group in the first place. He couldn't explain himself right now, but the last thing he wanted was for Daryl to think he'd turned him off after placing himself in such a vulnerable position. 

And there was no way he was going back to his cell alone right now, with that painful memory fresh in his mind.

He grabbed Daryl's wrists just as his fingers were tugging down the waistband of his boxers. "I ain't askin' for that," he whispered.

"I wanna," Daryl insisted breathlessly, attempting to pull free of Rick's grasp.

"No. Not like this." He was remembering the guards at the gate and tower, alarmed that it hadn't even crossed his mind until now.

"Why not?" the hunter demanded gruffly. He straightened up, a little unsteadily, looking confused and hurt. "The hell you want, then?"

"More of you," Rick rushed to reassure him. "But not out here."

"Then _where_?"

Daryl's urgency wiped the past from Rick's mind completely. "Generator room," he decided.

Daryl gave a hasty nod, and followed him into the darkened prison.


	3. Chapter 3

They moved as quietly as they could through the empty halls. Rick's heart was hammering in his chest and he heard Daryl breathing just as heavily behind him. Once they'd made it through the door of the generator room, Rick locked them in. 

He had no idea what he was going to do. He knew they shouldn't be here at all, not with Daryl as drunk as he was. But the part of his brain with the sense to consider that wasn't in charge right now. 

He turned around and Daryl was practically assaulting him with his mouth, clacking their teeth together, splitting Rick's lip with the force. His hands went to Rick's shoulders, fingers biting painfully into his flesh, but it felt more like he was clinging to him for dear life rather than trying to manhandle.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," Rick almost laughed, prying him back with some effort. His injured nose was throbbing again, and he was tasting blood from his lip now. 

"Don't want it easy," Daryl rasped, crashing their lips together again hungrily. 

Rick's pain began to fade as those words sank in, with Daryl all over him so eager and wanting. But when their lips parted, foreheads resting together as they caught a breath, the hunter's next words, blurted in a husky whisper, froze him solid: 

_"You could fuck me."_

Rick had been shocked enough at the offered blow job --how much experience had Daryl had? He hadn't even considered actually being inside another person again, least of all a man, and the fact that Daryl was so quick to offer, and so drunk, finally set off all the alarm bells in his head that it should have. He'd expected they'd make out, maybe get his hand on Daryl's cock at most, get to know the hunter's body better --just get used to this whole _idea_. 

Determined hands were back at Rick's belt again, undoing it and tearing open his fly. It took way more willpower than it should have for Rick to take hold of the hunter's shoulders and gently dislodge him. "Daryl - "

"What's wrong?" Daryl challenged, breathless and impatient.

"You're too drunk."

" _You_ ain't," he insisted, going for Rick's groin again.

Dammit, this had escalated way too fast. Reluctantly, he pried Daryl's hands off his crotch. "We can't do that," he told him firmly.

"Why?" the hunter persisted, tone just shy of pleading. "M'safe, ain't never done it before --"

"'Cause you're not ready," Rick cut him off sharply, the words both relieving him and scaring the hell out of him at the same time. " _Especially_ if you've never done it before." It wasn't like Rick had ever come close to fucking a man in real life; the last thing he'd want would be to ruin it for the both of them. He did up his fly resolutely and started refastening his belt.

Daryl jerked away from him contemptuously. "You don't know _shit_ ," he snapped. "Bringing' me down here when you ain't even got the balls to do nothin'! Think I can't take whatever you got?" He was pacing back and forth, spoiling for a fight again.

_Jesus, what the hell am I doing_? Rick thought. It occurred to him to try to coax Daryl back to his cell, get him to sleep it off, but he could see this was no time for a conversation about alcohol and consent with Daryl so horny and volatile. 

Before Rick had a chance to make a decision, Daryl shoved him, sending him crashing into a work table against one wall. He'd barely recovered from the sudden attack when Daryl slammed back into him full force, grabbing the front of his shirt roughly with both hands and making like he was about to throw him down. 

In truth, Rick had no idea what the hell Daryl was planning to do but he'd had enough of fighting. His self-defense training kicked in and before he knew it, he'd grabbed one of Daryl's wrists and pressed down on it, enough to hurt but not injure, while he sharply knocked the other away. 

With Daryl already off-kilter, Rick easily spun him around and slammed him down over the tabletop, one arm pinned behind his back. He leaned down on him hard enough to keep him there. "Are you _done_?" he grit out. 

Daryl panted against the hard surface, the wind knocked out of him. Rick tensed, expecting another outburst. But this time, Daryl slowly stilled beneath his weight. 

Rick's head was spinning now. His body was draped over the hunter's back in a way that couldn't help bring back all the wrong urges, especially with his erection pressing firmly into Daryl's ass cheek. He found himself acting on an impulse that would have been unthinkable just a minute prior. He undid his own belt one-handed, holding Daryl's pinned arm down with the other, and whisked the strap free. 

When Daryl's whole body flinched at the sound, Rick froze, instantly realizing the kind of memory that could have triggered for someone with Daryl's past. In his lusty haze, he'd only meant to use it to tie his wrists, but even that felt jarringly inappropriate now. He was preparing to deal with whatever backlash might be coming when it dawned on him that Daryl wasn't trying to get up. He remained prone over the table top, breathing deep and slow, as if he were readying himself. He wasn't even attempting to free his arm, which Rick was only holding with minimal strength now. 

Carefully, purposefully slow enough to give Daryl a chance to resist, Rick drew his other wrist behind his back and started to bind them together with the belt, blood pounding harder in his veins every second that Daryl let him. The hunter's body was taut and trembling but there was no struggle in him now, not even once Rick had him tightly secured. 

The logical part of Rick's brain was warning him this was changing their relationship forever, in ways he couldn't predict. But the stronger part was so fascinated with this side to Daryl that he couldn't stop himself.

He palmed Daryl's cock over his jeans, finding him hard as steel; pulled and squeezed him through the denim until the hunter groaned low in his throat and pushed into his hand. His eager fingers slipped down the front of Daryl's waistband, heat flooding through him at the first touch of warm, silky skin, the first cock in his hand that wasn't his own. 

Daryl's engorged length twitched in his grip, but his arms had started to strain against their leather bonds. And this was so new to Rick he couldn't help but ask, somewhat hesitantly, "You still alright with this?" 

Daryl instantly tensed at the question. He ground his forehead into the table top, his cock beginning to soften in Rick's hand, and a couple of seconds felt like an hour as Rick's mind and body struggled to readjust. 

Then he caught Daryl's gravelly whisper -"Don't... _ask_ me!" and understood his mistake. 

He grabbed Daryl's bound wrists in one hand and drove them into the small of his back, pinning him to the table with force, then with the other, jerked open the hunter's belt and fly and yanked his flagging erection free. The burst of roughness left Daryl gasping. 

"Fuck my hand," Rick ordered, his voice almost a growl. He was shocked at how easily it came out of him, and how rock hard he got when after a couple of tense seconds, Daryl started to move.

He bucked into Rick's fist, hesitantly at first, with short, rhythmless thrusts. " _Harder,_ " Rick grit out, and Daryl thrust more urgently into the rigid, unyielding grip. In no time, he was fully hard again, and Rick was thankful to have found the reset button so quickly. But too soon, Rick felt precome slicking his fingers and Daryl made a choked sound, muscles clenching up tight like he was already near the edge. 

Daryl coming and ending this was the last thing Rick wanted now. Not when everything around him was fading away -the dingy room, his disordered thoughts -so that all he knew was the sound of Daryl's breathing and the feel of his hot, heavy length sliding over his palm. 

He clamped two fingers tightly around the base of Daryl's cock, staving off his orgasm so abruptly that the hunter whimpered from the shock of it. That alone nearly made Rick lose it, even though his own dick had barely had any friction. " _No_ ," he ground out. "Not yet."

Daryl froze, breathing deep and ragged. His eyes were squeezed shut, cheek pressed flat to the surface of the table.

Rick released his length altogether then, and didn't think to ask before dragging his jeans and boxers past his hips. He couldn't help an appreciative moan as he bared Daryl's ass for the first time, pale and firm and perfectly rounded. Daryl flinched at the sudden exposure but when Rick started to rub steady circles into his lower back, it only took seconds for the hunter to go lax under the soothing pressure of his palm. It made Rick nearly euphoric.

The first aid kit sitting on the corner of the table held a small jar of Vaseline. Hell bent on exploration now, Rick went for it. But he didn't miss how Daryl tensed anew when he saw what had been removed, even though he stayed put. 

"Tell me you want this," Rick whispered. Daryl had told him not to _ask_ , but no way was he going to go ahead with what he wanted to do next without some kind of assurance. 

And even though Daryl's muffled groan sounded like encouragement, it wasn't enough for Rick right now. Before he could think better of it, he gave his ass a sharp slap and said, " _Answer_ me."

Daryl jolted at the unexpected blow, only to rasp out a second later, "I -I want it."

Rick couldn't shove the hunter's pants to his ankles fast enough after that, his hands and eyes hungry for as much of Daryl's bare skin as he could manage now. "Shoes off," he ordered, delighted when Daryl didn't hesitate, kicking them off with clumsy haste. He crouched down to strip Daryl's pants completely off, stealing a glance between the hunter's legs and finally laying eyes on Daryl's cock. It was thick and long, precome pearling at the purple tip. Rick had an urge to taste it, but he knew this would end way too fast that way. 

He stood up behind Daryl, gripping his hips with a roughness he'd never have allowed himself with a woman. He kneaded Daryl's ass hungrily, running a palm over the reddened handprint he'd left on the pale skin. It turned him on way more than he was comfortable with, seeing a mark on Daryl that he'd put there. 

As he spread Daryl's cheeks apart to reveal the tight pink furl of muscle, the hunter made a low, choked sound and turned his face into the tabletop. But he still wasn't resisting, even though for all he knew, he was about to get fucked, wrists bound and bent over a work table. Rick had forgotten to tell him different. 

That amount of trust filled Rick with a warmth that was more than just arousal, and a confidence he hadn't felt in ages. 

"Wider," he prodded, tapping the inside of Daryl's ankle with his boot. The hunter stepped his feet apart with a small groan. "Yeah, like that," Rick breathed. 

He dove his fingers into the jar of Vaseline and Daryl's hands balled into fists.They stayed clenched as Rick swirled a fingertip around the rim of his hole for the first time. Everything about Daryl was so rough that Rick marveled at how soft and delicate it felt. 

"Relax for me," Rick murmured, laying his other hand firmly on Daryl's lower back again, watching transfixed as Daryl tried to steady his breathing to oblige. When he was able to work a finger in up to the first knuckle, he felt near giddy at the knowledge that a part of him was actually _inside_ Daryl. He paused, remembering he needed to be careful pushing further into that shockingly tight heat. 

But Daryl didn't seem in a mood for careful. He rocked back onto Rick's hand roughly, like he either wanted it to hurt or didn't care, and Rick slid the digit out in alarm, afraid of tearing the tender flesh inside. Instead of explaining that, he slapped Daryl's ass again, harder than he'd meant to. "Do that again and I stop," he said harshly. "You don't move another muscle til I say so. " Rick realized he was testing now. Himself as well as Daryl. 

Daryl's only reply was a smothered moan, and as he struggled to still himself, Rick grew elated. He teased carefully at the twitching hole until he was able to slip a finger back in, stroking the hunter's low back until he'd relaxed enough for Rick to add another. 

He watched in fascination as Daryl's body accepted both fingers, squirming only slightly with the increased stretch. He knew to probe deeper, crooking them towards Daryl's navel, and when he found the target he'd been seeking, a startled cry burst from the hunter's throat and his hips jerked sharply. "F-fuck, fuck, _Rick_ \--" he gasped, near-panic in his voice as Rick pressed into the bundle of nerves for the first time. 

"Shhh," Rick breathed. He rubbed over it more gently, until Daryl's hips couldn't help rocking along with Rick's movements inside of him, even if only slightly. He slid his other hand around to take hold of his cock again and it pulsed another trickle of precome at the contact. "You like that?" he teased. He got the feeling that Daryl's heavy breathing was the only response he was able to make right now, but it was more than enough.

He kept playing with the little gland, feeling it grow harder and more sensitive under his questing fingertips, pulling off entirely at random intervals to watch Daryl try to keep his hips from bucking back against his hand. Rick hadn't been sure how this would even work, had nothing but porn to go on, but before long, Daryl was trembling all over and barely able to contain the soft, desperate sounds welling from his throat, sounds that Rick would never have imagined Daryl even capable of making. Nothing Rick had ever experienced compared to having this gruff, stoic man needily responding to his touch like he was made for it. He'd never been so turned on in his life. 

And there was that strange possessiveness again, like he'd felt with him briefly out in the woods, blotting out everything but Daryl and the way the inside of him pulsed and clenched around his fingers, the way his breath hitched in anticipation every time Rick drew back and made him wait. He was so mesmerized he'd nearly forgotten his own erection. 

Daryl was doing just what Rick had told him to, not even trying to thrust his swollen cock into his fist for more friction, and suddenly all Rick wanted was to break that resolve. He fucked his fingers into him harder, tugged his length relentlessly, until Daryl's hips were writhing from the mounting pressure. The second a wanton moan burst from Daryl's lips, Rick abruptly drew his fingers out and let go of his throbbing member.

 _"Rick!"_ Daryl practically sobbed in protest, and Rick nearly shot off in his pants. 

But having Daryl like this, being able to decide when it would happen, was a high he wasn't ready to come down from. "Not yet," he whispered, teasing a thumb over the sensitive head, feather-light. It drew another sharp whimper from Daryl, and Rick thought he'd live for that sound from now on. 

He leaned his body over Daryl's, brought his lips close to his ear. "Show me how you'd move, if I was inside you."

" _Just fuck me!_ " Daryl burst out, breathless.

" _No_." He nudged Daryl's thighs even wider, lifted his hips so his ass was arched up and on display. Slowly, Rick pushed two fingers back into the tender, quivering hole. "Show me."

Daryl stilled, sucking in deep, ragged breaths. Then slowly, he began to rock back onto Rick's fingers.

Rick held his hand as still as he could, making Daryl work to impale himself. The sight of Daryl fucking himself on his fingers had Rick grinding his own length into Daryl's hip with a groan. Daryl couldn't seem to angle himself to hit the right spot and his increasingly frenzied movements made the blood rush to Rick's head. He felt like this could go on forever, just him and Daryl locked together in this warm, blissful bubble. 

But his body was already rushing towards it's breaking point, and before his mind could latch on to the weight of what that meant and bring him crashing down, Rick forced his fingers to find Daryl's prostate again. 

This time he pressed and pressed into that spot until Daryl was squirming, until raw, guttural noises were bubbling out him that Rick knew he wouldn't want to remember making. "Think you're ready to come yet?" he said. He tried for playful but his breathlessness gave away how close he was to coming himself now.

Daryl could only moan in response so Rick drew his fingers back just enough to prevent stimulation, pressing down on Daryl's lower back to keep his hips from chasing more sensation. "That's not an answer." 

" M'ready!" he gasped, frantic, desperate.

"Tell me you want to come." 

"I wanna...I wanna..." he chanted mindlessly, unable to even form the words. 

Rick tore himself out of his jeans, finally pressing his throbbing length against Daryl's bare flesh. The skin-to-skin contact sent a shockwave through his body, as if it were the first time his dick had ever been touched. 

He took Daryl's cock back into his hand and jerked him with a rhythm too steady for him to resist, pressing his fingers mercilessly into his oversensitized prostate.

The hunter's whole body started to shake, his breath coming in short, choppy pants. Rick could feel him holding out, unwilling or unable to let go. He wondered if Daryl was waiting for permission and that thought made his own climax start barreling up on him. "Stop fighting it," he said lowly, barely hanging on. "Give it to me. Let me _hear_ you."

The words were barely out of Rick's mouth before Daryl lost it. His cock spasmed in Rick's hand as he came with an unexpectedly loud cry. He writhed helplessly across the table top, speared on Rick's fingers, pulsing come all over the floor at his feet.

That was it for Rick. He collapsed over Daryl's back, grinding himself against Daryl's ass as the first orgasm he'd had in months burst from him like a dam breaking. He moaned with abandon, feeling a mountain of suffocating pressure wash away in a tide of release. He kept his fingers buried inside Daryl the whole time, relishing the intimate heat still clenching around them long after they'd both emptied.

He felt drugged or in some trance-like state. It took a while before he recovered enough to realize the position they were still in. His weight on Daryl's bound wrists couldn't be comfortable but the hunter seemed boneless beneath him, Rick's fingers still inside his pulsing channel. When he finally drew them out, Daryl stirred with a soft hum of discomfort. 

Rick wiped his hands off on the tail of his own shirt as he eased up to begin unwinding the belt from around Daryl's wrists. "You alright?" he asked softly. 

Daryl's grunted _mmhm_ didn't take away the twinge of guilt Rick felt at the faint red marks the binding had left behind. He was more troubled that it slightly aroused him anyway, even now. 

_I'll be more careful next time_ , he thought, only realizing after the fact that he'd already assumed there'd be a next time. 

Once his wrists were free, Daryl's arms fell slack to his sides. He was so still that Rick worried for a second that he'd passed out. But then Daryl pulled his elbows underneath him sharply, lifting himself just enough to draw a deep, shaky breath. Relieved, Rick folded himself over the hunter's back and slid an arm around his waist. He pressed his nose into Daryl's soft, sweat-damp hair and felt a soothing peace settle over him. Like everything was good. Like everything made sense. 

Then, abruptly, Daryl shrugged him off his back and righted himself, making Rick stumble backwards awkwardly. He spun around, face flushed, eyes watery and unfocused. His half-naked body and still semi-hard cock suddenly seemed completely out of place.

Rick could almost _feel_ him closing off and instantly reality came crashing down around him. He'd indulged in a selfish fantasy, taken advantage of Daryl's drunken state. He'd had no right...

He wanted nothing more than to pull him close again, bask in that comforting warmth. But Daryl was already fumbling into his discarded jeans and boxers without even stopping to clean the come off himself, shoving his feet clumsily back into his shoes. Like he couldn't stand to be exposed another second. 

Before Rick had a chance to figure out what to do or say next, Daryl was sidestepping him and stumbling hastily towards the door. 

Rick reached a hand out to clasp his shoulder. "Daryl --"

The hunter shrugged him off none too gently and didn't turn around. "M'fine, " he mumbled, voice thick and husky. "Just...need to go to bed."

Rick stared dumbfounded as Daryl disappeared through the door. Bereft and alone in the silent, empty room, he numbly picked up a rag and wiped up Daryl's come from the floor beneath the table, wondering what the hell he'd just gotten himself into.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [doverit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doverit) for continuing to beta this! Without her input, updating would be twice as hard.

Daryl drifted into consciousness grinding a near-painful erection into his thin mattress. Twinges from that strange place inside that had lit his whole body on fire were lazily shuddering through him. His cock was leaking into the sheets, and rough hands were gripping his hips, dragging him up onto all fours, spreading his legs so wide it hurt before shoving his face into the mattress and -

He jolted fully awake, the sharp movement making his head spin and his stomach lurch. His tongue felt thick in his parched mouth, and he still felt a little drunk. But he remembered _everything._

Of course he did. He'd never been one to ever get truly black-out drunk, even when he'd tried. Somehow his body always seemed to have known not to give up that last vestige of control, known there could be consequences he couldn't recover from. He'd done plenty of dumb shit, even some dangerous shit, while wasted, but never anything he couldn't at least own the next day. 

Until now.

Memories of last night flashed in and out rapidly. He remembered attacking Rick, the dark, senseless rage that simmered closer to the surface when he was drunk overtaking him when he'd thought Rick was rejecting him. The humiliating thrill when he'd heard Rick's belt slither through the denim loops and realized he didn't want to stop him, no matter what he'd wanted to do with it. 

_You could fuck me._ Jesus, he'd really said that. To _Rick._ But what Rick did to him instead made it clear that he hadn't been pining for some straight southern Boy Scout after all.

Rick had done it so effortlessly, like it'd been in him all along, hiding beneath the surface like the bursts of brutality Daryl had seen on occasion when he was pushed to his breaking point. But then, he was also the only man Daryl had ever found worth following by choice and not blood bond. The only one who'd known from their very first meeting how to diffuse the temper that even scared himself sometimes with its volatility. It couldn't have been anyone other than Rick.

Still, Daryl knew he'd _let_ it happen. If he hadn't gotten so stupid drunk, he wouldn't have come in his pants like a fucking teenager. Wouldn't have given enough away that he'd spent the rest of the day too mortified to even look at Rick, and wound up trying to numb himself even more. 

After months of hiding unwanted boners, fighting to keep his eyes from lingering on him long enough to get caught, he should've been downright relieved to find out Rick had at least been up for something more than friendship. Instead, he felt near sick with shame. 

He sat up and raked his nails across his scalp in frustration. Rubbed at the slight chafing around his wrists from where they'd strained against Rick's belt when the need to come had made him writhe. Felt another pang inside where Rick's fingers had pressed. And just like that, he was fully hard again, craving Rick's hands on him in a way that was thoroughly humiliating now that he was sober. 

The urge welled up in him to punch something, feel the skin of his knuckles split with that satisfying, mind-clearing explosion of pain, but he swallowed it. From the quiet and the darkness outside his cell, he knew it was still before dawn. The last thing he wanted was to have Rick wake up and maybe come check on him. 

How the hell was he ever supposed to face him again? Bad enough he'd found out Michonne had left well after he was in any condition to go after her, especially in the dark of night. 

Remembering that, he forced himself up off the cot and gathered up what he needed to take with him. He had to leave. Do what he was supposed to do, before he made anything worse. Find Michonne, clear his head. 

He moved quietly through the still-sleeping cellblock. Passing Rick's cell, he felt an overwhelming urge to slip inside just to lay eyes on him one more time. Just in case. It almost derailed his exit altogether. 

But he wouldn't risk waking little Asskicker, asleep in her crib at the foot of Rick's bunk, for something that selfish. He'd already fucked up enough, and with the one man whose opinion of him actually mattered. 

Setting his jaw along with his resolve, he made his way towards the exit at the end of the block. 

He was out of the gates and speeding down the empty road on his bike just as dawn was breaking.

* * *

He had a pretty good idea where to find Michonne. Last time they'd been out they'd found evidence of a group traveling north but after losing the trail, he'd decided it was time to pack it in. She'd argued that the next town on the map could be the key but had grudgingly returned to the prison with him anyway. 

He'd reasoned there was no way to know where that group had gone, no clear evidence that it was anything more than a random series of abandoned camps that only seemed to fit a pattern. But when he was being honest, it was as much because he'd been out there too long and yearned for his own bed, and regular meals. And Rick. 

He'd insisted to himself it was because Rick relied on him. The kills he brought back fed his kids, his sure aim kept the perimeter safe and protected the lives of whoever went out on runs with him. But just because those things were true didn't mean they were the only reasons. 

Then he and Michonne had come back and he'd noticed for the first time how Rick looked at her. How Carl's face lit up at the sight of her when they rode through the gates. He saw plain as day what she could be to Rick. She was beautiful and smart, but she was strong, too. Strong enough to back Rick up as well as _he_ could, and to keep his kids safe. The sort of woman Rick would realize he needed eventually.

He'd already been struggling with the realization that the former deputy had become a lot more to him than the only real friend he'd ever had. Since Lori's death, Rick had sought out his company more than anyone else's, and with nothing to remind Daryl how temporary his place by Rick's side was, he'd almost felt... _happy._ Maybe for the first time in his life. 

And even if he'd never gotten his hopes up that he could expect anything more, being forced to face the truth for real broke something in him. Made him angry, restless, stupid. Stupid enough to get lit before noon and attack Rick like some redneck asshole starting a barfight. Stupid enough that the needs he'd wisely gone his whole life pretending didn't exist wound up betraying him twice in one fucking day. 

No matter that Rick had gotten off on it too. _He_ hadn't done anything to be ashamed of. _He_ hadn't been the one begging for a dick up his ass. And if he hadn't been all over Rick like a pathetic whore, it was likely nothing would've even happened. 

Rick hadn't been in his right mind since Lori. For all Daryl knew, he'd just been desperate for some kind of contact, and he'd been there at the right time. It wasn't like Rick had been that eager to actually fuck him, anyway, when it came down to it.

He spotted Michonne as she was crouched low on the deserted main street, siphoning gas from an abandoned car.

She came to her feet and whirled on him, unsheathing her sword while she did so in one graceful, fluid motion. Her relief when she recognized him was short lived. "What are you doing here?" she asked, sounding a mix of irritated and tired. 

"Told you it was a dead end," he shrugged, surveying the desolation. 

"You came a long way just to say I told you so."

"Why didn't you tell me you was leavin'?" They'd shared a purpose, the two of them. And somehow knowing she might wind up with Rick one day made him feel more protective of her, even if it came with a particularly bitter hurt. He saw how bad Lori's death had fucked Rick up; he'd never stand in the way of something that could make him happy. 

She kicked her foot absently against a tire. "Cause I figured you might be right," she admitted, looking as close to sheepish as he'd ever seen her. "But I just couldn't leave it alone. Didn't want to drag you along on a wild goose chase."

"The hell else I got to do?" he said irritably. 

Her head cocked to the side at that, eyes narrowing appraisingly. "You can go back," she said. "I don't need a babysitter."

He'd been hoping she was right. Hoping that prick really would've been in their sights for real after all this time. He caught himself thinking not of avenging his brother, but of Rick, and couldn't help the pang of guilt that went along with that bit of disloyalty. But a victory like that was something that could make everything ok. Set things straight, make Rick forget what a desperate bitch he'd acted like. No way was he going back without something that big under his belt. "Nah," he answered her. "Came all this way, ain't goin' back empty-handed."

She eyed him with a concern that made him feel naked, like she could just _see_ the wrong on him. Bad enough everywhere on his body Rick had touched almost tingled whenever he concentrated. He still had the remnants of Rick's come dried on his ass and he cringed to remember that the thought had started arousing him on the ride here.

"So let's do some scavenging," she shrugged finally. "Saw a few possibilities along the way."

They rode out, him on his bike following the minivan she'd taken. 

They hit some gas stations and a strip mall that were only sparsely occupied by walkers, loading the van with anything that could be of use at the prison. 

Michonne's face broke into a wide smile as she saw a comic store at the end of the row of stores. Following along, he watched as she stuffed a bag full of the ones she knew Carl liked the most. 

He went to guard the door, fighting off a morose mood.

* * *

After two days going through a few more towns and finding nothing but walkers, Daryl's spirits finally lifted when they were lucky enough to stumble into a private pediatric practice, still stocked with drugs and a bunch of other medical stuff that would be great for the prison infirmary. He stowed some of the stuffed animals lying around into his pack for little Asskicker.

There was a picture of a toddler on the reception desk, a light-brown skinned boy smiling brightly for the camera. He caught Michonne's eyes lingering on it for too long and wondered not for the first time if she'd lost a kid before all this. 

After that, she was even quieter than usual. He asked her if she was alright, and didn't pry harder when she said she was. She'd talk if she needed to.

They settled in for the night at a suburban home that'd been thoroughly ransacked but had strong doors and windows. 

"I think I'm gonna head north in the morning," she said quietly, as they sprawled out on the L-shaped couches in the living room and split a can of baked beans. 

"The hell for?" he asked irritably. It was clear they had no leads to follow. "We got a shitload of supplies to take back, you wanna risk losin' 'em?" 

"I saw a bike trailer up the street. You don't wanna come with, you could take the van and your bike back at the same time. I can find another car."

" _No_. We go back together," he grumbled. Dammit, he was _done_ with this road trip. The minivan was stuffed full now; he thought he just might be able to face Rick again with such an impressive load. But even if he couldn't, it didn't make sense not to get this shit back ASAP.

She settled back into the couch across from him, her expression unreadable but far from pleased. "You take first watch then, " she muttered gruffly, closing her eyes and pulling a blanket up over herself. 

He spent the next few hours the way he'd spent the last forty-eight --trying to keep his thoughts from wandering back to Rick. In the last hour before he had to wake Michonne, his resolve broke. He checked the perimeter, made sure she was still out cold, and retreated to a bedroom at the end of the hallway off the living room where she was sleeping. 

He yanked his aching dick free, ready to be rid of this sickening arousal that had been idling in his belly since the morning he'd lit out. He wasn't used to being horny enough to be distracted. It was like Rick had flipped some kind of switch back on that he'd thought he'd cut the wires to years ago. 

He wrapped one hand tightly around his nuts and squeezed hard, jerking himself roughly with the other as the pain rolled in waves from his groin through his belly. He wanted to get this over with fast, before any thoughts could come creeping in. The second he closed his eyes though, the memory of Rick's scent was filling his nostrils, and he was feeling that arm like an iron bar across his chest, pinning him to that tree. That low, deliberate voice that could drip with authority when he needed it to -- _Do you want me to hurt you?_ \-- only in his mind it wasn't so much a question as a promise. 

His heart started pounding the way it had when Rick had slammed him over the table and began to bind his wrists, as he recalled that overpowering mix of fear and arousal that had shut his mind down completely and turned him into nothing but inflamed nerve endings and throbbing need. 

_Fuck._ NO. He was _not_ doing this. He dropped his hands to his sides and forced his eyes open. He wouldn't be anyone's bitch, not even in his own head. Hell with it, he'd go wake Michonne. It was close enough to his shift anyway. 

He hadn't even made it through the doorway when he realized he wouldn't be able to sleep. That even that flood of shame had done nothing to get rid of his restless, frustrated arousal. If anything, it added to it, reminded him of the same confusing thrill he'd felt when Rick had spread his asscheeks for the first time, playing with his hole like it was a toy he was figuring out, making him feel more exposed than if he'd been fully naked. For about the millionth time in his life he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. 

If he were alone in the house, he would've laid back on the bed, pulled his jeans down low enough, and whipped the shaft of one of his arrows down across his thigh until it drove him over the edge with as little thought as possible, but there was no way to mask the sharp sound with Michonne just down the hall. And the second it occurred to him, the thought of Rick using one of them on him like that shot into his mind and his cock pulsed a sticky trail of precome down its length. 

God _dammit._ He took a deep breath, forcing that out of his mind. Eyes closed, he took himself back in his hand, but with only a couple of strokes, Rick was right there again.

He'd managed to keep Rick out of his fantasies all those months because it felt so wrong to think of him like that. But now that he knew how his voice went low and husky with want, how those ice-blue eyes could drill into him, and how his hands could feel so rough and safe at the same time, he couldn't help it. 

Scenes darted into his mind unbidden. He was on his knees on the hard concrete at the prison, Rick's hand twisting painfully in his hair as he choked him on his cock. Heard him order, _Swallow it. Every last drop._ He was tied and bent over the table in the generator room, only this time it wasn't Rick's fingers inside him. He was spreading him roughly, making it burn as he claimed his ass with his cock and told him to take it, his eyes watering as Rick split him open and _pushed -pushed -pushed --_

He released his dick again, cursing himself. He couldn't do this, couldn't give in to the urge to imagine something like that with Rick, something that was sick to imagine in the first place. Not when he'd have to live beside the man and face him every day. He already couldn't stand to think of how Rick must be looking at him now.

But the savage ache in his balls from holding back only made the need to come more urgent, reminding him of how Rick had done the same thing to him, forcing him to wait until nothing had existed but Rick's hands, Rick's voice, and somehow, an overwhelming feeling of safety, something so foreign and confusing to him that he hadn't even recognized it at the time.

He started to jerk himself again with a brutal, non-stop rhythm, no spit or precome to ease the way. Tried to replace Rick with the vague, faceless male he'd used for these fantasies since he'd discovered he had these urges, never wanting to imagine taking that kind of treatment from anyone he could picture in real life. But it was like Rick had somehow deleted that old program and replaced it with a new one.

Disgusted with himself, he slid his free hand down one leg and raked his fingernails along the tender flesh of his inner thigh until he felt the sticky dampness of blood under them. Soon enough, the white-hot sting sent him over the edge, hard and fast and thankfully empty-headed. 

It wasn't exactly satisfying but that hadn't been the point. It was scratching an itch, and that was all that need deserved. He snatched a pillowcase off the bed to wipe up his come, and got the hell out of there, already trying to erase the moment of weakness from his mind. Michonne was just waking up as he entered the living room, stretching her lithe, feminine form like a cat and reminding Daryl all over again of just what he didn't have to offer Rick. 

He settled down on the opposite couch and flung an arm over his eyes without a word to her. She could count on him to watch her back for as long as she planned to be out here, but he'd be damned if he was gonna act happy about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [doverit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doverit) , this actually got posted in a somewhat timely fashion! Hopefully the next one won't take as long.

Waking up the morning after, Rick was almost convinced he'd dreamt it. Even right after he'd left the generator room, he'd had trouble believing the brash, aggressive hunter, the man who'd saved his life and the lives of his family time and time again, was the same man who'd sunk to his knees in front of him, who'd let himself be bound and stripped. _Controlled._ Who'd practically begged to be fucked. 

Then he'd found Daryl missing and his whole world turned upside down.

Carol asked if everything was ok between them, noticing he was sporting a split lip now, in addition to his still-swollen nose. He'd told her they'd worked it out but she seemed wholly unconvinced, though she accepted his explanation that he'd gone to find Michonne. Rick could only hope his guess turned out to be the truth. 

The nights were the worst. Every bad decision he'd made replayed unceasingly in his head. Letting things escalate with Shane. Almost trading Michonne to the Governor for their safety and Merle winding up dead because of it. Letting that little punk Andrew live so that he'd set the trap that wound up leading to Lori's death. 

Not telling Lori he'd still loved her. 

And then this -crossing a line with Daryl that he shouldn't have, so desperate for an escape that he'd given in to impulses he'd never expected to act on. 

He should have known better. Should've known that even if Daryl had also entertained certain fantasies, it didn't mean he'd have wanted to play them out in real life. He'd been drunk. Vulnerable. Removed from the high of their encounter, Rick felt like a predator. 

Sure, he'd had his own curiosities and fantasies, but he'd always assumed that under it all, he was still mostly straight. Mostly _normal_. He was just grieving, confused, that was all. 

He was trying hard to believe that, but whenever he found himself idle, he was reliving those surreal moments where Daryl had shown him a trust he was certain he'd never given anyone else. A level of trust that Rick had never been gifted with before. 

Then would come the crushing guilt, that those brief minutes of bliss had been what had driven Daryl out of the safety of the prison. And worse, had momentarily erased Lori from his mind.

The third day dawned and Daryl still hadn't returned. Rick was so on edge he came close to striking the man who Daryl had been pummeling that fateful day, when he came up and asked him if there was anything extra he could do to help out around the prison. _You've done enough,_ he wanted to snarl at the man, his guilt-addled brain searching for somewhere else to lay blame. 

His emotions lurched from rage at the hunter's abrupt departure, to abject terror at the thought of him not returning, back and forth and back again, until he couldn't do anything but stand at the gate, staring out into the empty road. After realizing he'd been standing like a statue for nearly an hour, a thought snapped him back to himself with a clarity he hadn't felt since that night with Daryl, only this time it brought him anything but peace.

He wasn't fit to lead anymore.

* * *

Daryl sped up the prison road, minivan packed full, bike in tow in the trailer behind. 

He'd always been a light sleeper but leave it to Michonne to pull off sneaking away right under his nose without stirring him in the slightest. He hadn't been able to track her, hours later on a paved road. Apparently she'd slipped out a small bathroom window so she could keep their door traps intact and leave him safe, and that angered him more than anything -that somehow she thought she needed to look out for him, leaving him no choice but to return to the safety of the prison. It felt worse that there was some relief in it, too. That the decision he'd wanted to make anyway had been forced on him.

Now he had to add losing Michonne to the list of things he'd fucked up. 

Rick was at the gate as he pulled up. He looked like hell, like he hadn't slept for days. Their eyes met, and though the relief Daryl recognized felt good, he saw anger there also, and something else, something so fierce in Rick's gaze that Daryl's throat constricted and his stomach flipped. That part of himself he'd been running from the past few days reacted like it had a mind of its own, giving him a traitorous urge to stoke that ire into something violent and punishing. He wrenched his eyes free, swallowing hard, and tried to slow his quickening heartbeat as he parked close to the entrance to unload. 

From the rearview mirror he saw Rick stalking up to the car, his face set in hard lines, his stride forceful and full of purpose. Despite himself Daryl was already growing hard and breaking into a sweat. 

He exited the car on shaky legs and Rick was right there. 

But Carl was coming up behind Rick now. "Where is she?" he blurted. "You didn't find her?"

The kid's words cut right through him and brought him back to reality with a jolt. Of course Carl would have expected him to return with her. He'd been the one to tell him she'd left in the first place, to ask accusingly why he hadn't gone with her this time. At that point, Daryl had already been drunk and if memory served, his response hadn't been too nice. 

"She didn't wanna be found," he mumbled. The failure tasted even more bitter with Rick here. He turned away, unable to look either of them in the eye, and busied himself opening the doors to the minivan and unloading the cargo.

As the three of them worked to unpack everything, Daryl was acutely aware of the tension rendering all of Rick's movements sharp and aggressive. The man's silence told Daryl whatever he might want to say to him wasn't for Carl's ears, and it gave Daryl a warm twinge in his belly. By the time they were done though, Rick's anger seemed to have faded into something cooler and more distant. Daryl had spent enough time studying Rick to know that that was worse, and even though he'd vowed not to expect or seek anything more from him, it turned that warmth into a gnawing emptiness. 

Carl found the comics Michonne had left him and looked at Daryl, curious and confused. That was _her_ thing with him, and Daryl knew in that instant he had to come clean. "Came across her on the road but she didn't wanna come back yet," he confessed huskily. "Wasn't nothin' I could do." 

He winced inside at the look of hurt and disappointment on the kid's face. "She'll be alright," he muttered, knowing the words were useless even as he uttered them. Rather than deal with any more conversation on the matter, he grabbed his crossbow and pack and left the two of them to finish up. There wasn't anything he could say to Rick anyway.

* * *

It was during dinner that night at one of the picnic benches under the outdoor cooking tent that Carol told him. Rick was planning to turn over all the decision-making for the prison to a council. 

Rick had already been pulling away from running things, delegating responsibilities to anyone who'd wanted to take them on, but something about making it official didn't sit right with Daryl. He knew Rick had been run down and had stepped up accordingly to try and make things easier, take as many burdens off him as he could, but now he couldn't help but wonder if the weakness he'd shown had finally made Rick lose faith in him. If he'd been the last straw. "Who the hell's gonna be on it?" he muttered irritably.

"Well, I guess it'd be up for a vote. I don't know, he only brought it up this morning." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you."

"He's been busy," he muttered with a shrug. Steered clear of him like the plague was more like it. A part of Daryl was relieved that Rick hadn't tried to talk to him after he'd abruptly left him and Carl at the van, as embarrassed as he'd been. But that other, less familiar part of him had been aching from the loss since the moment he'd left Rick behind in the generator room. 

Days passed. 

There was so much work to do, putting up some necessary outbuildings, clearing and cleaning more cellblocks, and building up the perimeter defenses, that it was easy for him and Rick to avoid being alone together. Rick still addressed him when he needed to, and he still responded like he would've before. To all outside appearances, nothing had changed. With other people all around them it was easy enough for Daryl to pretend that was true.

 

The only hint he'd had since he'd come back that Rick hadn't managed to put their encounter behind him either was when they'd wound up in the generator room, helping to carry down some more fuel to keep them powered. Others had been working down there with them, but Daryl's gaze couldn't help but land on the table Rick had bent him over, and when he'd looked away, Rick was watching him. Their eyes met and the heat in Rick's look made him avert his gaze immediately, his whole body flushing with shame and arousal. 

Michonne came back, her sudden appearance at the gate putting a smile on Rick's face the likes of which Daryl had never seen. He couldn't bring the man to smile like that, he thought, but then he sure as hell wasn't supposed to _want_ to in the first place. 

The council was formed at a meeting of all the residents out in the yard. Hershel, Glenn, Carol and Sasha were all put up rather quickly, and were just as quickly voted in. They needed an odd number, and Daryl was startled to hear Rick put his name up decisively as the fifth member. Even though it was the last thing he'd wanted, it made him feel warm all over and he couldn't bring himself to turn it down if Rick was still willing to place that much trust in him. 

He was completely blindsided when it was accepted by the rest of them as well. Even the prick he'd knocked on his ass raised his hand in support. But the good feeling was short lived when Rick disappeared after the meeting's end without so much as a glance in his direction. 

In all the worrying he'd done over how he and Rick might behave towards one another, he'd only prepared himself for having to act like nothing strange had ever happened between them. 

He hadn't been prepared to lose Rick completely.

* * *

Shutting Daryl out was hard. But it was obvious from the way Daryl had fled, and kept his distance since, that he was regretting letting things go the way they had. 

Rick knew for himself, it'd been too much. Daryl's disappearance had left him closer to coming unhinged than he'd been in months. He couldn't let himself go through that again. Better to let things lie and see if they could get back on solid footing again, the way they'd been before.

He was relieved and grateful when Michonne came back safely a couple of days after Daryl. They began to share breakfasts together, and somehow just the presence of another person who'd lost a love, who was obviously also struggling with her share of guilt even if she hadn't shared the particulars, brought him a comfort no one else could right now. When they sat together, Carl would join them, and for surreal moments, it would almost feel like him and Lori having one of their good days, idly chatting around their kitchen table before Carl went off to school. For hours after, Rick wouldn't know if that made it better or worse.

He tried to concentrate on the only things that mattered -that were _supposed_ to matter -Carl and Judith. The council could see to the prison, he would see to his children. Teach Carl what Hershel was teaching _him_ -how to farm, how to tend to livestock, how to live in peace -and eventually the hollow ache in his chest would go away.

Except it didn't. His son's presence often filled him with more pain than peace. Times when Carl couldn't hide his anger at his newly-restricted life and Rick felt the unspoken accusations, the ones he'd voiced out loud just before Rick had gone off to Woodbury that last time with Daryl and Michonne. He'd blamed him for his mother's death. And for letting the Governor kill Andrea and Merle when he could've killed him at their first meeting. 

That his own son had lost so much faith in him left him wondering if he could even trust himself anymore. He'd spent his whole life doing what he'd thought were the right things to do, but this world with no rules made him feel like the ground was constantly shifting under his feet. And the more he fucked up, the harder it became to regain his footing.

He'd had a particularly bad day. The snares he'd set had only yielded a few rabbits, and by the time he'd gone to check, two of them had been chewed on by walkers. He'd had a fight with Carl over making him leave his gun behind while they'd be out in the fields that wound up ending with "it's not up for discussion," and "fine, keep pretending we're in the old days, _that'll_ make everything ok." The contempt in his son's voice made him seethe with rage until he forced himself to recall that he'd earned every ounce of that contempt by leaving him with the responsibility of his own mother's death.

As he lay on his back in the dark trying to turn off his brain, the usual litany of fuck-ups and failures began their ceaseless scrolling. Once again, he slid from his bed and went to wander the empty yard. 

Thanks to Daryl's relentless walker killing spree at the fences earlier, it was almost silent. The ferocity of the hunter's determination had worried him, brought him the closest he'd come since Daryl's return to attempting to address their tryst in words. But the second he'd begun to approach, Daryl had abruptly stopped his one-man mission and made his way to the vehicle pool, where he'd spent the rest of the afternoon working on cars with Zach, a kid Daryl and Glenn had found on the road with some other survivors. 

He was proving a competent mechanic and a light-hearted distraction for Beth, a development that had made Carl's mood all the worse. But this day, Daryl almost seemed to be using him as a shield, the way he'd headed over so resolutely and stayed, choosing to work alongside a kid who already seemed to get on his nerves with his constant chatter rather than risk confronting Rick alone. 

Halfway done with his circuit around the fences, he realized he'd grown hard. Maybe it was his attempt to focus his thoughts on Daryl rather than have his brain start to loop over the things that had driven him out here in the first place. 

In the old days, jerking off had always cured his sleeplessness. Many a night when Lori wasn't in the mood -more and more as the years went on -he'd seen himself off to sleep with his dick in his hand, his wife unconscious next to him, completely unaware of how non-existent she was in his fantasies. Back then, the physical release had been enough to clear his head. 

Since that night with Daryl, he'd been pent-up again, and riddled with too much guilt to use him as jerk-off material after being so irresponsible with him to begin with. But now it was feeling like some kind of quest. Guilt be damned, he needed to _come_ , needed to recover at least some part of himself that was healthy. 

He made his way to a part of the yard where a mound of dirt and some piled-up fencing protected him from the sight of the guards on duty and took himself out. As he slowly began to stroke his thickening length, he didn't even have to try for the right image to spring to mind -Daryl, on all fours, that perfect ass bared and presented to him, the feeling of his slicked fingers plunging into Daryl's willing body, and the desperate, needy sounds he'd made that'd sent Rick flying with adrenaline and lust.

He couldn't help but let out a groan imagining that tight, virgin channel clenching around his cock instead, as Daryl's raw, gravel-voiced plea, _you could fuck me,_ echoed in his head.

Recalling the heady rush of being the focus of Daryl's need, he felt the first ooze of precome seep through his fingertips. He smeared it over the tender head and down the shaft to ease the slide of his hand. 

The sound of a small huff of breath, not his own, made his heart jump. His eyes flew open in near-panic, expecting it to be one of the guards investigating the shadowy figure they'd caught roaming around the yard, only to discover their former leader out here jerking it like some teenage boy. 

But it was Daryl, illuminated by the bright moonlight, his mouth slack with surprise. 

Rick's mouth went dry. The real Daryl, fully clothed but right there in front of him, made his whole body flush with warmth. But enough decency remained in him to immediately start tucking himself back into his boxers, well aware of how skittish Daryl had become with him.

The hunter mumbled a rushed explanation. "Came out to check the gas on the ATV. Gonna hunt with it tomorrow. Seen you out here and...didn't know you was, uh..." He started a gesture towards Rick's crotch, halting it awkwardly in mid-air before dropping his hand back to his side with a muttered, "Shit."

"Couldn't sleep," Rick explained, managing a chuckle at his awkward state as he started to put himself away. He shook his head ruefully. "Should've just asked for some of your Southern Comfort. Would've done the job just fine and spared my dignity." 

Daryl face was turned away, as if he were respecting Rick's modesty, which couldn't help but amuse Rick considering he'd already had his fingers inside the man. 

"Y'ain't slept right in days," the hunter noted quietly.

"Yeah, well. I _was_ tryin' to remedy that," Rick said lightly. The fact that Daryl had been keeping tabs on his sleep habits, even while they'd been so distant the past week, was more comforting than he'd have expected. 

"Ain't gotta stop," Daryl blurted. "If it helps you sleep and all..." 

Rick's fingers froze on his fly as Daryl took a tentative step towards him. Their eyes met briefly and Daryl stopped. Then the hunter sucked in a breath like he was revving up his courage and closed the distance between them so quickly that Rick had to catch him by the shoulders to keep them from roughly colliding. And just as quickly, those broad shoulders dropped from his grasp as Daryl sank to his knees at his feet.

Rick's breath hitched in his throat. "Daryl -"

Calloused hands were already yanking Rick free of his jeans. "Ain't drunk this time," Daryl said, and the rough, insistent tone knocked any doubts from Rick's mind. 

He gasped as Daryl's fingers made contact with his inflamed skin, a tremor running through his whole body as the hunter's warm, pink tongue darted out and lapped at the precome pooling at the slit without hesitation. He watched, mesmerized, as Daryl began to mouth over the head carefully, like he was getting his bearings and savoring it at the same time. 

Before long, Daryl's lips were coursing up and down his shaft with more enthusiasm than Rick could've even imagined, and he was bearing down on the hunter's shoulders for balance as his legs turned to jelly. 

Daryl gagged and sputtered as Rick's length hit the back of his throat for the first time, but before Rick had the chance to ease off out of consideration, the hunter redoubled his efforts, clinging to Rick's hips as he practically choked himself on his cock. 

_"Daryl,"_ Rick groaned, seizing the back of his head with both hands like a lifeline. And at that, Daryl let out a moan around his length that made Rick's toes curl, made his nuts draw up so tight so fast it hurt. His hips snapped forward of their own volition and instead of pulling back, Daryl took even more of him in, until Rick felt the hunter's nose pressed into his groin, felt his throat spasming around the head of his cock. He kept going, taking all of Rick into his mouth with each bob of his head, his eyes closed and leaking tears as he tried to keep from choking. The sensations were overwhelming; he'd never been blown so aggressively. But it was Daryl's expression, a picture of blissful concentration that made Rick feel truly desired for the first time in years, that made him lose it without warning. 

His fingers twisted into Daryl's hair, clenching spasmodically as his orgasm rushed out of him like an explosion, flooding Daryl's throat with his release so hard that this time the hunter _had_ to ease up. He let out a deep, grateful moan as Daryl pulled back just enough to stop gagging, letting spit and come leak out of the corners of his mouth rather than cut Rick's pleasure short.

Rick stared down at him dazedly as his softening length slipped from his swollen lips. He loosened his grip on his hair -fuck, he hadn't realized just how tightly he'd been holding on until now -and he began to knead at Daryl's scalp as the hunter brought his lips back to draw the last drops out of the sensitive tip. The feeling of care in the gentle sucking was almost better than the orgasm. 

Through it all Daryl hadn't once looked up at him. Rick went to tilt his head up, dying to see whatever he could of the hunter's eyes in the dim light, but Daryl resisted, ducking his head and standing abruptly. As he did so, he swiped the trails of come from the sides of his mouth with his fingers and hastily sucked them clean, making Rick's spent member give one last sluggish twitch.

Rick could plainly see the outline of his erection through his jeans but before he was able to even think about reciprocating, the hunter was hurriedly fumbling a cigarette out of his vest pocket, lighting it up as he took a few steps backwards out of Rick's space. Rick recognized he was using it to put some distance between them and was thoroughly confused. 

Daryl had certainly been the aggressor this time, but it didn't feel that way at all. Instead, it felt like he'd just forced Rick to use him. And although Rick didn't quite understand his behavior, he couldn't help but notice that unlike their last time together, he wasn't rushing off. 

"Feels like I'm the one who should be smoking a cigarette about now," Rick teased gently, more to leave an opening for Daryl to say something else, anything to help him make sense of his behavior. He tucked himself away and zipped up his jeans.

Daryl pulled out another cigarette and held it towards him. "Ya want one?" The gesture was so casual Rick could hardly believe he'd had his cock in his mouth barely a minute ago. 

"I'm good," Rick replied, with a confused little shake of his head.

Daryl nodded, slipped the cigarette back and mumbled, "Gonna go to bed. Gotta be up first light." He started to walk away.

"Daryl."

The hunter stopped and slowly turned, but only halfway, like he didn't want to face Rick head-on.

He wanted to ask him why the hell he'd done that, and why he didn't seem to want to do anything at all about his own obvious arousal. But he could tell from the hunter's body language that the matter was off limits for now.

"I'm going with you," Rick said instead, deciding in the moment that he could miss a day of farming. Carl would probably be thankful. "Shouldn't be out there alone."

Daryl started to object, ever on the defensive at any hint of protectiveness. "You ain't gotta -" 

"I know," Rick cut him off. "I am anyway."

"Pfft," Daryl huffed, shaking his head slightly in irritation. 

"First light," Rick reiterated firmly, making sure Daryl knew his mind was made up in case he was about to object. 

He didn't. He gave a short nod, the same way he always responded when Rick asked anything of him, and headed off towards the entrance at a pace that Rick realized meant he didn't want to stroll back together. 

But Rick didn't mind. After days of guilt over pushing Daryl into something the hunter regretted, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He might not know exactly what Daryl was after, but it was _something_. And right now, that was enough to keep his thoughts fixed safely on tomorrow as he wandered back to his cell, letting sleep take him as he listened to the soft, steady sound of Judy's breathing.

* * *

As soon as Daryl reached his cell, he yanked the privacy curtain closed, tore himself out of his jeans and spent himself in a hastily grabbed washcloth. This time he didn't need to think, didn't even need to make it hurt. Not with the taste of Rick still in his mouth and his scalp still tingling where Rick had yanked at his hair as he'd groaned his release down his throat. 

A second after he came, he was furious with himself. 

He'd spotted Rick wandering out there alone, restless and unable to sleep, and had found himself making a beeline for him without any clear idea what he was planning to say. His legs had just started walking before he could talk them out of it. He'd seen him disappear behind some junk and like a dumbass had just followed along. But once he'd actually caught him jacking it, the urge to give Rick what he clearly needed was too strong to resist. He wanted to hear those raw moans of pleasure that he couldn't erase from his mind, and know he'd been the cause. Show him he could do something for him no one else was ready to offer. 

Wanted to know what it was like to feel Rick's cock pounding into his throat, if he was being honest. 

Somehow his lust-drunk brain had insisted that if all he did was get Rick off, he'd still be in control of this thing, not become the pathetic, desperate creature he'd been before. Now that he'd come down, his common sense had kicked back on and he realized he'd just fucked up worse. 

He'd spent the last week torn between hoping Rick would chalk that time in the generator room up to drunken confusion, and wishing he would just bend him over a hard surface and fuck him raw, no questions asked. But it was obvious that Rick wasn't the kind of man to just use someone like that, the way he'd held back that first time, and hadn't made a single move to pursue it since.

Now Rick would have all sorts of questions. He'd be wondering what the hell was wrong with him; a normal man didn't just suck another dude off and call it a night. 

How the fuck was he supposed to handle hunting with him tomorrow, the two of them alone in the woods for hours? Now that he'd restarted something Rick had seemed perfectly willing to lay to rest, he didn't know what worried him more: that Rick wouldn't want anything else from him, or that he might.

The idea of completely cutting himself off from Rick the way he'd done the past week, until what they'd done became nothing but a confusing, faded memory, hurt too much to consider. But he knew if he let Rick in any further, he'd never have the man's respect again, and he couldn't stomach that either. 

He punched his leg viciously in frustration. There wasn't anything good he couldn't find a way to screw up. Should've just backed off when he'd seen Rick with his cock in his hand, stuck to his plan to try and go back to the way things were before. 

He stuffed the cloth he'd come in all the way under his mattress and settled onto his back. The hours ticked by as he restlessly stared into the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

Rick woke in a better mood than he'd been in for months. He felt lighter, freer, at the thought of being out for a day alone with Daryl again, danger be damned. It'd been too long. 

He exited the prison at the crack of dawn to find Daryl already waiting at the gates with the ATV ready to go. The hunter looked up at the sound of his footsteps approaching, and for a split second, his face lit up with an eagerness Rick had never seen on him before. Daryl quickly ducked his head as if he'd suddenly become aware of it himself, and Rick suppressed the affectionate grin that had wanted to break free at that. He didn't want to risk setting off any defenses this early. 

Rick might've finally gotten a good night's sleep, but as he got closer, he saw the puffy circles under Daryl's slightly bloodshot eyes, and wondered if he'd even gone to bed. 

Apparently he'd showered and changed his clothing from the night before, though, and Rick found himself hoping it was less to do with washing off human scent that might alert any prey downwind, and more to do with wanting more physical contact between them. 

Rick drove so Daryl could keep his eye out for a good point to start from. The hunter was tense and quiet in the passenger seat and Rick took that as a cue to keep his own speech to a minimum. 

He'd gone to bed sated, endorphins letting him stay positive enough to fall asleep. He'd never been pleasured like that -like it wasn't just a means to an end, like it was all Daryl wanted to be doing at that moment. But he'd woken up knowing there'd have to be some aftermath to that strangely desperate and unreciprocated blowjob. Whether good or bad, he had no idea. 

Daryl's unease was unsettling, but he had to tread carefully. He knew the hunter's moods could be volatile when he felt vulnerable, and even though Daryl had chosen to go down on him, Rick got the feeling it was more of an impulse acted on without much foresight, something he still wasn't ready to face in the light of day. Whatever might go down between them today, Rick had to make sure it wouldn't give Daryl a reason to take off again.

He decided to neutralize the situation, bring up a topic that couldn't possibly set him off. This wasn't some awkward date, he told himself. Whatever had changed between them, they were still two grown men who'd fought side by side, saved eachother's lives. Daryl had given his daughter her first meal, for Christ's sake. "You know," he started, "Judy hasn't stopped holding that stuffed dolphin you brought back from -"

"Right here's good," Daryl cut in brusquely, leaving Rick to wonder if he'd even heard him start to speak at all. But he nodded, and pulled off the road enough to be out of sight to any living passers-by. 

The hunter bolted out of the passenger seat before the vehicle was fully stopped and waited a little ways off, adjusting the sights on his crossbow while Rick finished parking. As soon as he heard Rick moving behind him, he took off, silent and focused as he always was on a hunt, eyes roving the ground and foliage for clues that only he could pick up. 

Rick relaxed and followed his lead, as he always did in the woods. He'd been a casual hunter in the old days, but even though he'd gotten a lot better at tracking and moving quietly over the past year, it was more a perfunctory competence borne of necessity, not the mastery that came from a lifetime of experience. He hoped the familiar activity on Daryl's home turf would lighten his mood.

For his own part, he'd never been so distracted on a hunt before. With Daryl near enough to touch, it was hard not to fixate on that loose-limbed swagger, those tanned, muscled arms, and the curve of his ass when he crouched or bent to check for markings along the way. 

Last night had left Rick wanting. He'd been physically sated, sure. But it was nothing like the satisfaction that had come from watching Daryl utterly fall apart under his hands. He'd felt powerful, clear. Invincible. No wonder when Daryl had disappeared it'd felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him. 

As they trekked through the woods, Daryl seemed to be on an even keel again, and Rick's mood grew even brighter -until he realized the hunter had missed some hints of tracks that even _he'd_ managed to pick up on. When he gently pointed them out to steer them in the right direction, Daryl's face twitched in irritation. At himself, Rick realized, which Daryl deflected with a sarcastic, " 'Bout time you learned to track." 

Afterwards, when their eyes met as they used signs to communicate directions silently, Daryl could barely meet his gaze without flushing pink.

The more Rick picked up on Daryl's increasingly flustered state, the more aroused he got. But he could also read in the hunter's expressions and body language the tension that wasn't just sexual, that still hadn't dissipated. If anything, he seemed more on edge, more irritable as the morning wore on. 

They got lucky enough to bag a decent sized buck before noon, Daryl deftly hitting its vitals so that it fell quickly. As they rolled it onto the deer sled and started to drag it back to the ATV, Rick couldn't hold his tongue any longer, even if he had no idea what words were safe to use. 

"That thing you did last night," he started awkwardly. "Usually something like that goes both ways."

Daryl shrugged in response, not so much as pausing in his tracks. "Didn't need it," he muttered curtly.

Rick tried again. "Didn't look that way to me," he prodded. 

"Said ya couldn't sleep," Daryl said, steadily moving towards the road. "Figured it'd help. You was halfway there already, anyways."

Rick wondered how Daryl could possibly think that sounded _normal_. "Yeah. That wasn't really my point."

"Said I didn't need it," Daryl said again, eyes still forward, his voice taking on a sharper tone.

"Hey," Rick said, more gently. "This is new to both of us. And I get that your uncomfortable, but after what we did downstairs that night -"

"Don't need to talk about it," Daryl cut in, clearly trying to shut down that particular path of conversation.

"I think we do," Rick pushed, unable to help himself. He needed to know _something._

"Nah," Daryl said forcefully, "we _don't_. I was shitfaced, alright? Don't hardly remember nothin'. _That_ wasn't me. I just..." He cut himself off mid sentence and shook his head resolutely. "Man, jus' forget it. If you don't want me to do nothin' like that for ya again, I _won't._ "

"I didn't say that. But if you were really drunk enough to not remember, I screwed up a hell of a lot worse than I thought I did." 

Daryl's face tightened at those words. "Guess you did," he muttered darkly. Before Rick was able to figure out just what he'd said wrong, Daryl picked up the pace, making it a feat of endurance for Rick to keep up with his angry stride with the heavy carcass dragging behind them

Rick did, nonetheless, and soon they were both winded. Rick was trying to find words that wouldn't make things worse, hoping the exertion was at least letting Daryl vent off enough aggression that he could get through to him. 

But apparently it hadn't done enough. When they got to the ATV, it was surrounded by a cluster of six walkers. They were in different stages of decay, the newest a male in a blood-stained t-shirt that bulged unevenly around the middle. With uncanny alertness, their heads twitched towards them once they were within ten yards. 

Daryl huffed in exasperation at the sight, and Rick assumed he'd take down a couple with his bow, that they'd strategically split the remaining with their knives. But to Rick's alarm, Daryl wasn't readying his crossbow at all. He slung his bow and backpack to the ground and rushed them like a charging bull, his large buck knife already drawn. 

The way he hurled himself at the dead was so primal and savage that under other circumstances Rick might have felt a surge of lust. Instead, it was fear that gripped him as he realized that for once, the hunter had gotten in over his head. 

He'd already felled two as Rick was catching up to enter the fray, but when Daryl stabbed the one in the bloody t-shirt through its eye, it pitched forward and took that moment to dump its guts at Daryl's feet on its way to the ground. As Daryl went to turn towards his next opponent, he slipped in the mess and lost his footing. He hit the pavement face first, stunned enough that another walker was able to throw itself on top of him. 

The prospect of losing Daryl so pointlessly sent Rick into a blind rage. He dove at the remaining walkers that were ready to pile onto the already-struggling hunter, driving his knife through the skull of one, then the other, so fast he was barely conscious of his actions. Daryl had managed to flip onto his back so he was face-to-face with the one on top of him, and even though the hunter was a second away from knifing it through its temple, Rick couldn't stop himself from dragging the body off of him and stomping its head into the asphalt until his boot heel crushed all the way through the skull. Somewhere in the back of his mind the effort was an attempt to stall, unable for those few seconds to face confirming whether Daryl had been bit.

When he snapped out of it and turned towards Daryl, the hunter was already on his feet, winded and shaken but looking unscathed. He was staring at Rick slack-jawed, and if Rick hadn't been so furious, he might have recognized the hunger in Daryl's eyes. "Do you even realize how reckless that was?" he seethed at him. "You nearly got yourself killed!"

Daryl flinched at the rebuke, but his defenses were back up immediately. "Save the lectures for yer kid," he muttered gruffly. "Ain't dead, and we got shit to do." He started in the direction of the deer they'd dropped, his shoulder knocking into Rick's as he passed him. 

Whether it was purposeful or just a result of Daryl being a little unsteady, the dismissal and the rough contact set Rick off. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed at Daryl's shoulder. 

Daryl reacted like a cornered animal, whirling around and knocking his hand off violently. He stepped towards Rick, his chest puffed up, challenging, threatening. "Best step the hell back," he growled menacingly. 

Rick was too angry to be distracted by bravado. He pushed forward, forcing Daryl to be the one to stumble back a pace, words shooting out before he could temper them. "You don't get to fly off the handle and risk your life like that! You don't have that right, not anymore!" 

Daryl's eyes widened slightly, startled, but they quickly narrowed right back into a glare. "You don't get to tell me _shit!_ " he shot back, his chest almost bumping into Rick's. "I don't answer to you! I don't answer to _nobody!_ "

"No?" Rick threw back. He didn't move forward, didn't back off. Just stayed where he was, dangerously close.The challenge lingered unanswered for a couple of seconds, and Daryl suddenly seemed to be wavering. His eyes were dark and Rick clearly saw the heat in them now. He was near enough to kiss, and Rick felt the urge to do just that. And for a tense moment, it almost looked like Daryl did, too. 

But then the hunter's expression snapped and he shoved Rick away, hard enough to make him stumble backwards and nearly lose his footing. 

As Rick straightened up, lust was beginning to pound in his veins. This was too much like the other times for it not to, and as he faced Daryl again and saw the wild look in his eyes, he was even more sure of it. He locked eyes with Daryl, squaring off. "You wanna do this? C'mon, right now!" It was juvenile, Rick realized, even as he'd said it. But apparently Daryl was easily goaded. 

The hunter surged back at him, like he aimed to knock him down, but as they collided, Rick used the momentum of Daryl's charge to get behind him, pinning the hunter's arms to his sides low enough to keep a hold. He took them both to the ground, hard. 

With Daryl's back to his front, Rick wrapped his legs around the other's lower body to keep him locked up, relishing the feel of those powerful, sinewy muscles straining against his entire front. Daryl grunted and swore in frustration, trying to dislodge him, but the position Rick put them in gave him a definitive advantage. 

But then, Daryl abruptly went lax in his arms. His breathing steadied, and Rick's cock swelled in his jeans, surprised at how easy it'd been this time. His mind started racing, taking stock of where they were and what tools he had at hand. He took a second to bury his nose in the back of Daryl's neck and breathe him in deeply, to enjoy Daryl's heavy warmth against him, alive and safe and trusting. 

Like a cobra waiting to strike, Daryl took that opportunity to jab a sharp elbow into Rick's midsection, twist his body sideways and shove away from him. 

Rick gasped for breath, tensing at the sudden loss of advantage as Daryl sprang to his feet and loomed over him threateningly. He was bewildered, disconcerted, but it didn't stop him from making another move before Daryl could launch another attack. 

He realized with a flash of humor that without an audience this didn't have to be an honorable fight. Reaching out both hands, he latched his fingers onto Daryl's belt and wrenched hard, dragging his jeans and boxers down until they trapped his thighs. 

Daryl's cock bobbed free, flushed and stretching up towards his navel, and he lurched unsteadily and swore, hobbled by the fabric and his belt. One hand reflexively went to yank his pants up and Rick took the opportunity to seize that wrist and use it to pull himself to his feet, unbalancing Daryl further. He spun the hunter to face away from him and propelled them both forward until they collided roughly with the nearest tree. 

In a flash, Rick had his cuffs at the ready, slapping them on before Daryl had a chance to resist or find his bearings. "Don't act like you didn't know this was comin'," Rick taunted breathlessly, over the guttural sounds of Daryl's struggling. The hunter's obvious arousal had spurred him on, and now he was awash in adrenaline and testosterone.

He spun Daryl around, and was met with an oddly panicked look, out of place with his blown pupils and stiff length. His eyes raked over Daryl's body only to notice his erection was flagging now. And that's when he saw what he'd initially missed. There were deep, angry scratches down the inside of one of Daryl's pale thighs, not old scars but fairly recent wounds. He instantly recognized they were self-inflicted, though he could hardly have come to any other conclusion, knowing there wasn't anyone else with access to that part of Daryl's body.

They both froze, Rick's hands on his shoulders, Daryl's face turned downwards. 

Rick cursed himself for forcing this situation, even as understanding was beginning to take hold in the back of his brain, piecing together everything he'd picked up from their encounters -the roughness, the force, the restraints. "Is this...is this what you _need_?" he finally brought himself to ask, low and quiet.

He half-expected another headbutt, or a vehement denial. Maybe both. 

Instead, Daryl's head dropped lower, eyes squeezing shut. He made no reply.

"Is it something you need?" Rick asked again, slowly, deliberately. He ducked his head lower, attempting to catch Daryl's eyes, but the hunter wasn't having it. "You can tell me," he insisted, in the most reassuring tone he could muster. 

The moment stretched between them endlessly as Rick practically held his breath. He was ready to step back and give up when Daryl gave him the slightest nod, only perceptible because every fiber of Rick's being was focused on reading the hunter's intent. 

The second Rick realized he'd gotten an answer, his heart started pounding again and this time, not just from lust. He knew he was standing at some kind of crossroads. One path led back where he'd been, lonely, guilt-ridden, every night a struggle to turn off his mind just to rest. The other went somewhere unknown, where he wouldn't know the terrain, couldn't even guess at the obstacles.

Daryl was opening the door a tiny crack, just enough that Rick could either step away or give it a push. If he let the door close, Rick was afraid he wouldn't get the chance to open it again. 

He pressed their foreheads together. Reached down and took hold of Daryl's cock, ran his thumb roughly over the crown, and gave it a sharp little twist. The hunter sucked in a startled breath. 

"Alright," Rick murmured lowly. "Then you're done fighting me." 

He thrilled as Daryl's length swelled in his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

Daryl hadn't had much cause to think about sex as a kid, maybe because all he'd thought to consider was what men and women did together, and for reasons he hadn't quite figured out yet, he'd never been interested. 

When he'd been close to fifteen, though, he'd found a magazine in the woods tossed out with the rest of some camper's trash. It was nothing but men, naked or in leather, bound, or gagged, or both, having all kinds of shit done to them that he could never have imagined. 

For the first time in his life, his dick had grown rock-hard in no time, heart pounding so fast he thought he might die of a heart attack, even at that young an age. And that might not have been a bad thing, because surely that wasn't something he should've wanted to live past anyway. 

He'd nearly tossed the magazine into the creek and went on his way. He didn't need experience to know how shameful, how sick it had to be. Not just looking at men -he already knew he liked that more than he was supposed to -but looking at men doing things even wronger than fucking. 

But alone in the woods, no one to answer to that day with the old man in lock up for beating on another girlfriend and Merle off in the army, curiosity and teenage hormones weakened his resolve. He found himself slowly flipping through the pages, cringing inside as his cock began to throb painfully.

After a time, the ache became too much to ignore and he'd hesitantly started to touch himself, feeling like he needed to relieve some pressure or burst. He kept stopping, almost afraid of what was at the end of that slow climb towards an ending he knew about but had never reached. Like somehow he knew there'd be no going back once he did. 

But one picture finally forced him uncontrollably over the edge, despite the battle he was fighting against his body's need. 

It was an image of a cop who resembled the sheriff's deputy that had busted his old man for driving drunk with him in the passenger seat one night. He'd had a deep, smooth drawl with an unmistakable power that wasn't bullying or angry, just easily felt. And even though his dad had been belligerent and threatening, this man had calmly managed to get him into his squad car without incident. 

After his father had been processed and put in the drunk tank, he'd driven Daryl to his uncle's house. Let him ride in the front seat, made him put on his seatbelt before he'd started the car, and told him he seemed like a good boy. 

The cop in the magazine Daryl had been staring at near cross-eyed with lust was fucking a naked and handcuffed boy over the hood of a squad car, but it was the sudden recollection of that other man's stern, kind voice and calm authority that had his first orgasm exploding out of him so hard it hurt. 

Now it was the quiet rumble of Rick's voice in his ear that was commanding all of his attention.

"Is this what I should've done when you started giving me that attitude?" Rick murmured lowly, his breath hot on Daryl's cheek. He was rubbing his shaft with long, firm strokes while he rolled his balls roughly in his palm with his other hand. 

Daryl sagged against him, his legs suddenly robbed of strength. He tried to smother the groan that welled up in his throat and only partially succeeded.

"Yeah, I thought so," Rick drawled against his neck. Daryl could feel him smiling and the playful confidence in his voice coupled with the evidence of Rick's arousal pressing into his hip made Daryl's instinct to fight it collapse the same way it had back in the generator room.

A second later, he was swimming in sensation. Rick's mouth on his, hard and bruising in just the right way, plundering his mouth with his tongue. Rick's hand on the back of his neck, warm and tight. The hard metal biting into his wrists and the rough fabric of Rick's jeans dragging against the tender flesh of his cock. Just the knowledge that Rick had him half-stripped and pinned to a tree brought him dangerously close to coming.

He was gonna come all over Rick's pants, _fuck_. 

He tried to arch his back and tilt his hips away, and Rick must have realized how close he was because he muttered, "No you don't," in a tone that was teasing before Daryl found himself spun around so his back was to Rick's front, one of Rick's arms holding him tightly across his chest. His stiff length swung in the breeze, robbed of friction and throbbing painfully. 

He could feel Rick's erection pressed against his ass now, and didn't even think to resist as he was maneuvered to the ground. He wound up on his knees with Rick beside him, his heart thudding in his chest like he'd just run a mile. Then Rick bent him over, careful to keep an arm under him as he lowered him down so he wouldn't face-plant in the dirt. 

The position couldn't have been more humiliating. It was uncomfortable at best, with his forehead to the ground and his knees digging into the hard, uneven dirt. He couldn't quite breathe right with his arms restrained behind him. But all he did was struggle to keep his balance and try to slow his jack-hammering heart as his cock twitched and leaked helplessly beneath him.

Rick's fingers were nudging at his lips, and before he heard him order, "Get 'em wet for me," in that husky tone straight from his fantasies, he'd already opened his mouth and taken them in, hungrily sucking at the three digits the way he'd sucked his cock, even though it took him a confused second to understand Rick's intention. 

He thought of the coconut oil in his pack that he occasionally used as rail lube on his crossbow, but didn't mention it. If Rick wanted it this way he could take it. He _wanted_ to take it. 

When Rick's fingers were drenched to his liking he pulled them out. Daryl felt them slide down the crack of his ass, and his balls drew up in anticipation of the stinging pain he knew was coming. Knowing Rick wanted this kept the shame at bay, left him dizzy and eager.

But Rick wasn't pushing into him right away. Instead he was spreading his cheeks apart with his fingers and rubbing gently around his hole, and it was too much, the exposure and the waiting. A pathetic sound choked out of him before he could stop it. 

Then Rick's hands were gone and he was standing abruptly. "Don't move," he grit out, and he was walking away and Daryl was utterly confused, because where the hell was he going? He almost wanted to cry from embarrassment, kneeling in the dirt like that with his ass in the air. But he didn't. And he didn't move. 

Because he saw then what Rick was up to, picking up his discarded pack and pulling the coconut oil from the side pocket like he'd known just where it was. 

Rick was coming back now, and his eyes locked on Daryl's with that focused look they got when they were readying for a mission, only right now Daryl figured that mission was whatever he was planning to do to him. He had to squeeze his eyes shut for fear he'd come all over himself the second Rick touched him.

He heard Rick come up from behind, heard him murmur, "Not safe like this out here." Then he felt the cuffs released and his stomach dropped like a stone. 

The handcuffs made it feel like it wasn't up to him, that it was only about what _Rick_ wanted. He knew how wrong it was to want this for himself, even in this state. Without the restraints, he felt the urge to bolt, and nearly did, but then Rick's hands were back on him and the decisive way they closed tight around his flanks and yanked him up onto his hands and knees was reassuring enough to make him stay put.

Arousal and nerves were making his limbs so shaky that he wound up more on his elbows, and he could guess Rick was more than happy with that the way he let out a low moan and ran a hand down the curve of his ass in a rough caress. "You don't want me to ask you," he said huskily, letting him know he remembered the words Daryl was ashamed to recall. "So if you want this, you're gonna stay just like that for me."

Daryl couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. The part of him that cared about how this looked was nearly gone, along with the rest of his brain that wasn't desperate for Rick to take whatever he needed from him. He wanted to feel Rick spend himself inside him, wanted it to feel good enough to him that he wouldn't need to look anywhere else. Rick wasn't a man who'd fuck just anyone. For all he knew, it might have only been Lori before this. 

He struggled to stay the way Rick wanted him as he was breached by now well-slicked fingers. It still burned as the tight ring of muscle was forced to stretch around the digits, but that made it easier to take, not harder. And when seconds later Rick found that magic spot again, Daryl felt the heady rush of the very last of his self-control slipping away.

Before he knew it, he was writhing on Rick's fingers, not sure if he was trying to escape the sensation or get more of it, but it didn't much matter because Rick wasn't giving him a choice. Every way he moved, Rick found that needy little place until his entire existence consisted of those knowing fingers taking him apart from the inside out, not letting up until he felt the beginning twinges of a powerful orgasm.

That brought him around real quick. 

This was all wrong, he wasn't even inside him yet and this was supposed to be for _Rick_ , not himself. He tried to pull away, meaning to tell Rick to fuck him already, the word _please_ almost coming to his lips. But when he opened his mouth the only sound that came out was a whimpery moan that didn't quite turn into Rick's name. 

And instead of pounding into his ready hole, Rick wrapped an arm around his torso and dragged him upright onto his knees. He drove his fingers back into Daryl at an angle he had no way to resist while he bit down ruthlessly into the juncture between neck and shoulder, below where the collar of his shirt would lie.

Daryl clung to Rick's forearm with both hands, near euphoric as the stabbing pain sent a jolt of aching need straight to his cock. But stronger than that was the realization that Rick was marking him, leaving him a reminder that he'd feel for hours, maybe days. His orgasm convulsed out of him without warning, come pulsing from his untouched cock as he let out a cry he wished he could take back. With a groan that almost sounded like he was about to come too, Rick slid a hand down Daryl's front and closed it mercifully around his neglected length.

Without Rick's arm across his chest to keep him upright, Daryl collapsed back onto his hands and knees. He rutted mindlessly into Rick's fist and back onto his fingers, no longer conscious of anything but Rick's hands on his body, and his rough, soothing voice coaxing him through one blissful wave after another, "That's it. That's it, don't stop," as if Daryl had even had a choice in the matter.

He was dimly aware of it going on way longer than it was supposed to, of Rick rolling him onto his side when his limbs gave out and curling around his back on the forest floor; of Rick stroking his softening length until it became nearly unbearable, and that he didn't want to stop him even then. 

Once he was fully spent, Rick's fingers slipped out of him. He was breathing hard and deep against the back of Daryl's neck, one hand splayed over his hip in a way that felt possessive. Rick's warmth surrounding him began to feel so good that he tensed up, his body warning him not to get too comfortable. Then the power of thought returned and he was mortified. 

He'd blown his load before Rick even had a chance to get started. And now here he was, being spooned like a little bitch. Jesus. _Fuck_. 

He had to let Rick know he didn't need this cuddling shit that Lori had probably trained into him. He needed to turn around and blow him, tell him he could still fuck him even. Make him forget how fucking pathetic he'd just been. But before he had a chance to make a move, Rick was tugging his jeans back up over his ass. He gave his hip an affectionate pat before shifting away.

Daryl took the hint and hurried to his feet, a little shaky still. From under his bangs, he watched Rick stand up and brush the leaves and dirt off his legs, and felt a hot blush creeping up his face. 

He had no idea what to say or do. It felt like the time to try and suck him off had passed, but how the hell was he supposed to go from jizzing in the dirt with another man's fingers up his ass to having any kind of conversation? 

Apparently Rick knew, because he quickly went to catch his gaze, eyes soft and warm in a way Daryl hadn't seen before. A hint of a smile was playing on his lips and to Daryl's confusion, somehow he didn't seem all that disappointed that he hadn't gotten off. 

"C'mon. Buckle up," he said lightly, nodding at Daryl's undone belt and fly. "Let's get that deer back before our luck runs out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to [doverit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doverit) for the super-speedy beta, even during a busy holiday week!

"Ain't you gonna...?" Daryl asked, flicking his chin towards Rick's still-apparent erection, voice still thick as gravel. 

"I'm fine," Rick assured him. He didn't like the uncertainty on Daryl's face; his eyes couldn't quite make it off the ground yet, and he looked almost as conflicted as he had after their first time. "You can make it up to me later," he added lightly. 

Daryl's eyes snapped up to his at that, face flushing darker. But to Rick's relief, he seemed somewhat reassured.

Some twigs snapped under the clumsy feet of a lone male walker straggling in from the road. Daryl gave Rick a dutiful nod, letting him know he had it, and sprang into action, dispatching it easily with one perfectly-placed stab of his buck knife. His calm, controlled attack was in stark contrast to his earlier outburst.

Rick dragged the deer to the vehicle in the meantime, and without a word Daryl took it upon himself to start wrangling the carcass into place on the back of the ATV. He didn't seem to want assistance even though it was a bit of a struggle, so Rick stepped aside, recognizing he was using the physical exertion to regain his composure. 

Which was fine, because Rick was having a bit of a struggle himself now.

Once he'd had Daryl pliant and trusting in his hands again, Rick had begun to feel the same exhilarating rush of power and lust and possessiveness that he'd felt in the generator room. That tunnel-vision like focus where everything faded away but the feel of Daryl's skin under his palms and his soft sounds of pleasure. And more thrilling had been the knowledge that this time there was no alcohol clouding the hunter's mind. This time, it'd been all Daryl.

But out of the blue, a bit of sunlight streaming through the trees had glinted off his wedding band, and the jarring reminder made him start to go too soft to attempt what he'd planned. He'd fought to clear his head, failing until Daryl's needy whimper did it for him. And before he knew it, he was clamping his teeth mercilessly into Daryl's flesh, desperate to anchor himself to the present with something so far removed from Lori that the guilt might be kept at bay.

If Daryl hadn't lost it unexpectedly, he might've fucked him. He'd come close, even after Daryl had spent himself on the ground beneath them. Now, Rick was grateful he'd reigned himself in. He was feeling Lori's presence again, in disturbing counterpoint to the frustrating ache in his balls. _This isn't you_ , he could almost hear her saying. 

He wasn't sure if he agreed with her, but he knew he sure as hell wouldn't have wanted Daryl's first time to have been a hurried fuck on the rough ground, surrounded by a half-dozen rotten corpses. Daryl deserved better than that, even if he didn't seem to think so.

Watching Daryl's lean, muscled body flex and bend, hearing his little grunts of effort as he settled the deer into place, was almost enough of a distraction to pull his mind out of itself again. Then he noticed the edge of the bruise he'd left peeking from the back collar of Daryl's wife-beater as his movements caused the fabric to shift. Before he could help it, concern had him reaching out a hand to check the extent of the damage. 

"Shit," Rick murmured, gently peeling back the thin cotton to reveal the injury. He was a little horrified that he'd nearly broken the skin without realizing. It had to have hurt like hell, yet he couldn't remember Daryl even flinching away from it. At the time, it'd even felt natural, like laying claim to something that was rightfully his. Removed from the moment, he recoiled from the sentiment. 

_This isn't you._

Daryl shrugged his hand off sharply as he continued his task, cheeks reddening as he realized what Rick was doing. "Ain't nobody gonna see it," he mumbled dismissively -as if that had been Rick's concern, rather than that he'd hurt him more than he'd meant to. 

"Didn't mean to leave you lookin' like a walker chewed on you," Rick said, a little sheepishly. "Got a little carried away."

"Ain't complainin'," Daryl muttered through his teeth, plainly irritated by the attempted apology.

The crotch of Rick's jeans grew a little tighter again as it sunk in that Daryl was embarrassed, not put off. In fact, now that he was recalling more clearly, it seemed to have been exactly what had sent Daryl over the edge. And in his current unfulfilled state, Rick found himself wondering what else Daryl might accept. 

Daryl finished securing the deer, slipping past Rick without meeting his gaze and slinging himself into the driver's seat.

Rick climbed into the passenger side, gladly ceding the wheel to Daryl. Rick wondered if he was needing to reestablish some control after losing it so completely, and by the way the hunter visibly relaxed once he started the engine, he figured he'd guessed right.

"I heard you all voted on a run in the next few days," Rick remarked, after they'd been on the road in silence for a bit. He wanted to shift the mood somewhere Daryl might be more comfortable with. 

It worked, more of the tension easing from Daryl's face at the innocuous statement. He almost seemed to jump at the chance to talk now, even if his voice was still huskier than usual. 

"Yeah. Gonna hit a feedstore for the animals we're gonna be rounding up. Me and Glenn seen some wild pigs when we were bringin' back Zach's group. Thinkin' 'bout taking the truck out and tryin' to track 'em down."

"That's a good idea," Rick replied. When Daryl fell silent again, he added, "I knew you'd be right for the council."

Daryl face colored at the compliment, and Rick struggled not to smile. He wasn't surprised when he was quick to deflect. "Ain't nothin' to it. Just the five of us wastin' time voting on shit that'd need to get done anyways."

"Still. I'm glad you decided to do it. I know you weren't exactly volunteering." Michonne's words had stuck in his mind since she'd uttered them. _Give him a reason to stay and he will._

Daryl shrugged. "Ya needed a tie breaker, I get it." 

"No, I would've brought it up sooner -I just figured if I waited til you could see the need you'd actually accept it." 

"You wont let them get bogged down with any bullshit," Rick explained, when Daryl shot him a wary, curious look. "I trust your judgement." 

"Yeah, til I get shitfaced and wind up bustin' your nose," he muttered. 

The self-deprecation was unexpected. Daryl's outward demeanor usually tended more towards cocky, even if Rick had been able to see underneath it. Hearing that now, after what they'd just done, gave him a tender feeling he was positive the hunter wouldn't appreciate. "Well, apparently that's what we're calling foreplay, so I can't exactly count that against you," he joked, hoping to lighten his mood. 

Daryl flushed a deeper crimson, cleared his throat and said, "So anyways, we're gonna need somewhere to keep them pigs," changing the topic so abruptly Rick nearly laughed. 

It was only the obvious discomfort on Daryl's face that stopped him, and had him answering smoothly, letting him know he'd gotten the message, "Me and Carl will get started on a pigpen. The more to keep him busy, the better." 

The turn into safe, familiar territory dissolved the remaining tension from Daryl's face. The rest of the way home could've been any of the other times the two of them had been out alone on a run, or a hunt, at least to Rick. It was comfortable and relaxing, almost as if nothing momentous had shifted between them.

  

* * *

  

After that first orgasm alone in the woods with that awful magazine, a dark cloud settled over Daryl's mind as it sank in that he'd probably never find a girl, knock her up, and have a family the way everyone else did. That he'd never live up to Merle's -hell, _anyone's_ -idea of what a man was supposed to be like. That he'd likely go the rest of his life alone.

He'd set the magazine on fire, went home to an empty house, and drank moonshine until the bleak feeling in his gut gave way to simple nausea. He spent the rest of the night kneeling over the toilet bowl, puking his guts up. And when his old man came home on bail and beat him bloody for drinking up his liquor, he no longer had any reason to doubt he deserved what he got. 

He'd kept himself on lockdown ever since, careful to make sure no one could figure anything out about him he didn't want them to -and that had always been as little as possible. No one had ever come close to finding out how messed up he was. 

Now, for the first time in his life, someone knew. No, not just someone. The only damn one who'd ever mattered. 

He hadn't meant to admit his need to Rick. He'd tried to muster up the will to deny or attack, but Rick's calm, encouraging voice had absorbed all the fight he'd had left. In that moment, somehow he'd felt that whatever his answer, Rick would know how to handle it. 

And as he sat with Carol at one of the outdoor picnic tables picking at his dinner later that day, it was a new kind of torture watching Rick at a separate table with Michonne and Carl, looking quite the happy family.

He could've sat with them. Rick had motioned to the bench he'd been sitting on as Daryl had finished filling his plate, but he'd forced himself to move on past. He figured Rick felt obligated somehow, and the last thing Daryl wanted to do was make him uncomfortable. No way was he about to sit down with them anyway -especially with fucking _Carl_ there -after what had happened earlier. 

They'd split up once they'd come back, Daryl to dress the deer, and Rick to check in on Carl and little Asskicker, but there hadn't been a second that passed that his thoughts had been on anything other than Rick.

Rick had gotten up to speak to Glenn. His hands were on his hips, and Daryl's eyes couldn't help but be drawn to his belt, the one he'd used to bind his wrists, and the cock trapped in those tight black jeans just below it, likely still frustrated since Rick hadn't had a moment to himself since they'd come back. 

"Earth to Pookie," Carol teased gently. "Have you even heard a word I've said?"

"Huh?" Fuck, had she even been talking?

He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed at his eyes, making like he was tired. He didn't want to meet her gaze right about now. She was way too observant, and lately a lot more likely to say just what she was thinking.

"I said I'm glad you got Rick out hunting today. Someone needs to keep his head clear."

"Seems clear enough to me," he muttered. The distinct sound of Rick's chuckle in the background, rare enough these days, made him almost regret opting to sit apart from him.

"I don't know. Starting up the council was fine and all, but him not even wanting any part of it?" She shook her head. "At least you got him carrying again. You know, he's been going outside the gates without a gun?" 

"Since when?" Daryl asked, instantly worried. He'd already noticed he'd stopped wearing his Python while working the fields; as used to watching Rick as he was, he couldn't have missed it. But outside the gates? 

"I've noticed it the last couple of times he's gone to check the snares. He did it again yesterday."

Daryl remembered Carl telling him the walkers had gotten to them, and the thought of Rick unarmed out there when the danger was so clear and present unnerved him. "Must be 'cause of Carl. Guess he's tryin' to set some kinda example." 

"I think he's wrong, not letting Carl carry. He's a kid, but even kids need to be able to protect themselves."

"Ain't our call. It's his boy." Daryl got it, more than he'd let on. Rick was trying to honor what Lori would've wanted, trying to keep Carl from having to make any more choices that might fuck him up down the road. He couldn't help but admire Rick all the more for it, even if he thought it was impractical. That kind of protectiveness was nothing he'd known at Carl's age, or ever, and sometimes it made him downright pissed when he'd hear the kid disrespecting Rick.

"Well maybe you can at least make sure he doesn't go out without a sidearm again. He won't be much of an example if he's dead."

"The hell don't _you_ say somethin', if it's botherin' you so much?"

"Because he might listen if it's coming from you."

Daryl caught himself before he asked, "What do you mean?" like some desperate high school girl. But maybe Carol was a mind reader too, because she finished the thought anyway.

"He respects you. A lot more than you think."

He could've laughed at how wrong she was, especially after this morning. But she kept going, like she thought she needed to make her case. "He got used to relying on you when we were out there. Ever since you and Michonne started running off together he's just been... _off_."

"We ain't been _runnin' off,_ " he muttered, irritated at the thought that he'd let Rick down, and to his shame, at her acknowledging Rick's needing Michonne too.

"Well, you haven't been _here_ ," she said curtly. "And this is where we need you."

"Ain't gonna let her hunt that asshole alone."

"I thought you said the trail went cold?"

"It did. Just ain't sunk in with her yet."

"I don't think she wants it to," she said bluntly. "I don't know if you do, either."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"We finally have a home. Someplace safe, if we keep it that way. Maybe you don't know what to do with that yet, either."

"Pfft. I'm on your damn council, ain't I?"

She smiled at that, that proud-of-him smile that was always as embarrassing as it was reassuring. "It's a start."

She got up to grab some water, and his eyes darted back to Rick, careful not to let them linger. Even with Michonne and Carl occupied in their own conversation, Rick seemed to be pointedly avoiding even glancing towards him. He seemed preoccupied, and not in a good way, until Michonne laughed and jostled an elbow into his arm. He startled and turned his attention back to her, a soft smile breaking over his face as his gaze steadied on her and his son.

Daryl wrenched his eyes away and forced himself to finish his food, even though he'd completely lost his appetite.


	9. Chapter 9

As soon as Michonne had wandered off to take a guard shift and Carl went to join Beth watching Judith, Rick's thoughts immediately flipped back to Daryl. It was fast becoming a reflex, his brain's new default whenever anything troubling tried to seep in. 

He couldn't deny that Michonne stirred up feelings in him whenever they spent time together. The feelings were familiar, in a way that somehow made him feel guiltier than what he'd done with Daryl did. Luckily, she wasn't offering him anything more than camaraderie so he didn't need to think too hard on it right now -especially when Daryl was bending under the hood of the minivan he'd brought back and Rick had a clear line of sight from where he still sat. 

He was shocked by the filthy images that sprang up unbidden while surrounded by people innocently finishing up their dinner: Daryl waiting for him on all fours, his tight, pink hole slick with lube and clenching around nothing. Or standing before him with his wrists bound behind his back, thick, engorged cock flushed an angry red and weeping precome, helpless to seek relief on his own.

In his mind's eye, Daryl was stark naked, even though Rick had to fill in some of the blanks there. He'd never actually seen him fully undressed, had never even seen him shirtless other than at the farm when Hershel had stitched him up. It hadn't occurred to him until now just how odd that was, given the lack of privacy they'd been forced to deal with on the road. 

But he didn't need imagination to picture Daryl's hard expression slowly giving way to one of raw hunger. He remembered the look he'd caught on him when he'd had him handcuffed and bent over obscenely earlier; it hadn't just looked like need, but need for _him_. The memory quickly made his cock surge to full. 

As if on cue, Daryl glanced over from his stooped position under the raised hood, and Rick couldn't find it in himself to hide the fact that he'd been staring. His look must have been even more heated than he'd realized, because Daryl startled as their eyes met and immediately broke his gaze, so fast Rick thought he was trying to pretend it hadn't happened. He went to straighten up, forgetting the hood in his haste and smacking his head against it. Rick watched him mutter a frustrated curse and slam it down hard enough to rock the vehicle. 

The small outburst sent another jolt of heat to Rick's groin, which he immediately chided himself for. Daryl being quick to anger over something that didn't warrant it should _not_ be something to be aroused by. Then again, he could hardly blame himself when that had been the start of nearly every encounter they'd had so far. 

But anger and discomfort were the last things he wanted Daryl to be feeling right now. He stood and headed resolutely towards the hunter, not sure of what he wanted to accomplish but eager to be near him nonetheless.

Rick could tell from the twitchiness in Daryl's frame that he was aware of his approach, likely eyeing him sideways from under his bangs. The idea of him actually making Daryl nervous was still new, and almost as amusing as it was arousing. It wasn't a reaction he'd had much experience with. 

"You look like you could use some help," he started, and just as Daryl looked up, pretending too obviously that he'd only _just_ taken notice of Rick's proximity, a shout from Carl jolted them both.  
    
  

* * *

    
    
Rick had expected some emergency -a walker breach, an unexpected accident or injury. Instead, it'd been Judith rolling herself over with her chubby little arms for the first time that had Carl frantically calling, "Dad!" across the open yard. The way things were now, every little milestone took on a deeper meaning, different from the ones he remembered almost taking for granted with Carl. 

Daryl followed him to their cellblock, a rare, tiny smile of open affection briefly gracing his features as he watched Judith gurgling happily at her accomplishment. Rick had only ever seen that particular smile of his turned towards his daughter, and right now it was particularly comforting. Soon after, the hunter silently retreated from their makeshift family room in the cellblock's open area, and Rick decided to let him be for the night, too much confusion swirling around in his head to do otherwise.

Hours later, a nightmare startled him awake in the darkness of his cell.

He and Lori were in their kitchen. Not the one in the house they'd bought right before Carl, but in their first apartment. She was trying to talk to him. 

_You're pretending_ , she was saying. _You're the one pretending, not me._

He was annoyed and rushed; he didn't want to think about whatever she was trying to tell him. Didn't she realize he had to go to work? He left her alone, the words hanging in the air, knowing she was hurt, figuring he'd see her later and make it up the way he always did. Tell her he'd do better, _be_ better. 

When he came back, it was to a different home. Their last house now, with Carl's toys littering the floor.

He couldn't find her. 

He went from room to room, panic mounting as he ran out of places to look. A hallway morphed abruptly into gray concrete, and he found himself back at the prison. He moved through empty corridors, growing more and more frantic. When he was just about ready to collapse with despair, there she was, sitting on the edge of the bunk he'd shared with her for mere days. 

His heart swelled with a relief so profound he could barely contain it, because _finally_ , here was their new beginning. The one that would make it all ok, take away the doubt and the guilt and erase their past mistakes. He couldn't wait to show her Judith. But before he could go and find their daughter, she turned her face up to his and the blood chilled in his veins. 

Somehow, she'd turned. Her skin was already mottled and grey, but the eyes that met his were still hers, full of fear and silently begging for help. He knew there was nothing he could do, and as the realization sunk in that he was too late, that he'd have to lose her _again_ , he jolted awake, drenched in sweat and struggling to breathe. 

He sat up, reflexively checking Judith's crib, panicking for another second when he found it empty until he remembered he'd left her sleeping in the one Carl kept in his cell. 

The hollow ache in his belly told him there'd be no more resting tonight, so he got up and made his way through the dark, sleeping cellblocks and down the corridors until he reached the showers. Hot water was a precious luxury given the fuel it took to run the generators, but at the moment he was desperate to soothe his body in the hope it might soothe his mind as well.

He was surprised to find the lights already on as he slipped inside, water running in one of the makeshift private stalls they'd created in the open room by stringing curtains between the showerheads. Outside the stall was a stool with a very familiar set of jeans, t-shirt, and shoes on top of it. 

His heart jumped as his mind locked onto the fact that Daryl was completely naked behind that white plastic sheet. Then the water abruptly stopped and Daryl's head and arm emerged from behind the curtain, reaching for his clothing. 

The hunter's breath hitched in surprise, a shudder running through him as his eyes caught on Rick. He froze, awkwardly standing with the curtain covering half of him, clutching the clothing he'd grabbed over his other half. No steam was emanating from the stall, and the nipple that was exposed to Rick's view was pebbled, his arm covered in goosebumps. 

"No hot water?" Rick asked, immediately concerned there was a problem with the water heater.

For some reason, the question seemed to catch Daryl off guard. His mouth opened like he meant to reply, but nothing came out and he wound up catching his bottom lip in his teeth instead, almost reminding Rick of a kid caught being up to no good. 

Rick remembered he'd already showered this morning; two showers in one day were unheard of, especially where Daryl was concerned, and his embarrassed expression made Rick curious about the water temperature for an entirely different reason. "Were you taking a cold shower on purpose?" he asked, a little amused, but a lot more perplexed that he'd be down here alone looking to _avoid_ getting off. He couldn't help teasing him a little. "You know that's a myth? It actually makes it worse."

Daryl's eyes slanted away, a blush creeping up his neck. He let out an annoyed huff, and made to disappear entirely behind the curtain with the bundle of clothing.

"Hey! Let me see you," Rick blurted, unable to help himself, his voice already coming out a bit deeper and thicker. He couldn't pass up the possibility of finally seeing _all_ of Daryl, but worse, he had a sudden, perverse urge to examine the mark he'd left on him, run his fingers over the tiny purple depressions his teeth had left.

Daryl stopped, fingers tightly wound in the thin plastic sheet, tension and uncertainty radiating off of him. Rick was about to say "nevermind," recalling the hunter's unusual modesty, when Daryl unclenched his hand and released the curtain abruptly. With a sharp, almost angry motion, he threw the clothes back down onto the stool. When he lifted his eyes to Rick's they were narrowed into hard slits. 

Rick was stunned. He'd seen Daryl's torso bared on the farm after he'd been hurt, but he'd been too preoccupied with Carl's recovery and Sophia's whereabouts to have paid much attention. The dirt and grime he'd had on him must have obscured what Rick was clearly able to make out now, with Daryl's skin clean and pale under the fluorescent overhead light. 

Thin pink scars littered his chest, his abdomen, even his sides, too old to be anything other than evidence of a childhood Rick already figured had been awful. His cop brain immediately gleaned from the pattern and thickness that they were likely from a switch, or something similarly thin and painful. 

He must've done a shitty job hiding his troubled reaction, because Daryl quickly challenged, "You want somethin'?" in a voice a little shaky despite its gruffness.

"Turn around," Rick murmured, before he could stop himself. He knew how presumptuous it was, but the sense that this could be his only chance drowned out his inhibition. Daryl never shared anything of his past; physical evidence might be all he'd get. 

Daryl blinked in surprise, a flurry of emotions passing over his face in rapid succession, and once again Rick started to open his mouth to take back the order. But before he did, Daryl turned, slowly, defiantly. As if to say _too late, you asked for it._

Similar but deeper scars crisscrossed his back, scars that from their size and placement gave Rick a vivid picture of that back when it hadn't been quite as broad or thick-skinned. 

He was speechless as Daryl stood still as a statue, fists clenching at his sides. "I...I had no idea..." he ventured softly after a few beats.

"Guess that killed the mood, huh?" Daryl muttered spitefully. His head was bowed, shoulders hunched, his nakedness making him seem even more vulnerable.

"It's not that," Rick rushed to say. He reached out to lay a soft hand on his shoulder but at the last moment, refrained. "Here I was thinking about the bitemark I left on you, how much it turned me on, like some kind of... _animal_. I didn't know the kind of shit you must have -"

Daryl spun on him, jamming the heels of his hands into Rick's chest hard enough to cut his words off with force. " _Stop!_ Talkin' like you're fuckin' _sorry_ for me!" 

"I didn't mean -"

"Yeah, ya did! Ya think I'm losin' sleep over some shit that happened 'fore I even had hair on my balls? Just shut the fuck up! Think I need that shit?!" 

Daryl's eyes were blazing, voice rising too loud for where they were. Daryl seemed oblivious to it and Rick felt the situation slipping out of his control. " _Daryl._ Hey. I wasn't tryin' to -"

"You want somethin', fuckin' _take_ it!" he spat out, shoving at Rick again, harder. "I ain't some bitch, and I ain't yer damn wife -"

Rick's hand was on Daryl's throat before he could contain the irrational flash of rage. Daryl let out a sharp wheeze as his back slammed against the concrete, as Rick pinned him to the wall with a palm over his windpipe. His eyes widened, and as Rick stared into them, trying to will himself back to sanity, they began to darken with lust. 

"Go on, _do_ somethin'!" Daryl choked out.

Rick's head was spinning with arousal and fury and guilt. Part of him wanted to shove Daryl to the floor, plunge into him, fuck him with the violence he seemed to be trying to goad him into, make it clear as day just how _not like Lori_ this was to him. But the muscles in Daryl's neck were going lax under the pressure of his palm, his expression morphing into something so raw and desperate that Rick felt the anger seeping out of him like air from a punctured balloon.

He slid his hand off Daryl's throat to cup the back of his head instead. " _No_ ," he said, almost more to himself. "I'm not gonna hurt you 'cause you pushed me."

"Fuckin' pussy!" Daryl spat out, and the challenge in the sullen, near-disgusted tone sucked Rick right back in. 

"Yeah?" he shot back. He twisted his fingers viciously into Daryl's hair until he'd bent his head back, forcing him to keep his gaze. The glare slowly drained from the hunter's eyes as he continued to pull him steadily downwards, until the last of his resistance gave way and he dropped heavily onto his knees at Rick's feet, heedless of the hard tile floor. 

Rick would tell himself later that it was only the fear of hurting Daryl worse by making him feel rejected that let him go through with it under these circumstances. But he'd be forced to admit that was only partially true. 

Once he took in the sight of Daryl, naked and staring up at him dazedly, lips parted just enough to be an invitation, he was fumbling open his jeans, fingers clumsy with lust. And when his cock was free and Daryl leaned in unconsciously, Rick didn't hesitate to seize him roughly by the back of his head and thrust into his willing mouth.

Something shifted in Daryl as Rick's length filled his mouth to the brim. His eyes drifted closed almost peacefully, arms going slack at his sides. The surrender in his posture shifted something in Rick as well, spurring him to thrust harder, mesmerized by the hunter's reaction. Daryl's cock thickened and pulsed the rougher Rick pumped into him and before long Rick was practically pounding into his throat, taking his head in both hands.

Daryl let him fuck his face without resistance, not even reaching for his own straining length even though precome had been oozing from the tip since the first time he'd gagged.

Dizzy and groaning with pleasure, Rick found the bruise he'd left on Daryl's shoulder and dug his fingertips brutally into the patch of abused flesh. _Mine_ , he thought wildly. _All fucking mine._ Daryl's breath hitched from the pain, eyes flying open and locking onto Rick's as if he'd heard him. And in that moment, Rick found that place again, where he was no longer a failed leader or a struggling father. Where he was only the man Daryl found worthy enough to be staring at with something akin to adoration.

Before he knew it, he was coming, clutching Daryl's head in a death grip, his punched-out cry echoing dangerously loud in the empty room.

But Daryl didn't seem alarmed. His hands went to Rick's hips, bracing himself as he sucked and swallowed until his face was beet red and his eyes were tearing. When the need for air finally made him pull back, gasping, he took Rick in his hand without missing a beat, and Rick was left reeling at the filthy sight of Daryl letting the last of his seed pulse out over his face. 

As soon as Daryl caught his breath, his lips closed around the tip again, mouthing and licking softly until Rick had to pull back, too tender from overstimulation. But the sight of his come splattered across Daryl's flushed face was enough to make his spent cock give another valiant twitch. 

He reached out and swiped his thumb through the warm streaks he'd left on Daryl's swollen lips, committing that visual to memory. Without any prompting, Daryl turned his head to take the digit into his mouth and suck it clean. Rick pulled it free and smeared it through what was left on his cheek and the bridge of his nose and brought it back to Daryl's lips, wondering if he'd keep going while his own cock still hung severely neglected. 

He didn't even hesitate. And when Rick slid his thumb from his mouth again, he waited for him to do it again, and again, patiently taking the care to lick it completely clean each time. 

Rick threaded the fingers of his other hand through Daryl's damp hair and kneaded his scalp softly, overtaken by a swell of affection. The feel of Daryl's warm, gentle tongue over his skin was deeply soothing and the surrealness of having Daryl in this altered state somehow felt better than coming had. 

Daryl's cock was near purple and steadily leaking onto the tile floor by the time he was done cleaning him off.

"Get up," Rick ordered, tugging upwards on the hair he was still grasping. Daryl jerked to his feet like a puppet on a string and Rick crashed their mouths together, tasting himself on Daryl's lips, wondering if now would be the right time to find out if Daryl tasted the same.

Daryl moaned into his mouth, his wet, naked body plastered to Rick's front, his cock finally finding some friction against Rick's denim-clad hip. 

"I have to wear these tomorrow," Rick murmured, reluctantly peeling Daryl off of him. 

Daryl nodded breathlessly, slumping back against the wall. His right hand twitched reflexively towards his throbbing length, and to his own surprise, Rick heard himself growl, "Put that hand down." He was even more surprised when Daryl snapped it back to his side instantaneously, his cock pulsing another languid trickle of precome as he did. 

It hit Rick hard then, that no one else had ever seen this part of Daryl. And with that came a stronger, more troubling thought -that no one else ever _should_. Rick was suddenly aware that he was feeling something wholly detached from normal attraction, or some ordinary desire for an orgasm. He wanted to _own_ this man, and the desperation in that scared him; it felt dangerous and made him want to bolt from the room before it overwhelmed him. 

But he couldn't, not with Daryl shivering against the wall, glazed eyes drifting up to fix on his. And maybe Daryl sensed his unease, or maybe he was feeling a bit of that danger himself, because all of a sudden he wrenched his eyes away and gave a quick shake of his head. "I _can't_ ," he rasped, sliding out from between Rick and the wall and reaching for the clothing he'd left crumpled on the stool.

Rick flashed back to that horrible first morning after, finding him gone, and couldn't just let him walk away. "Hey." His hand shot out to grab Daryl's shoulder. "We're not done here."

Apparently the stern tone agreed with Daryl, because instead of shrugging off his hand, he stopped cold and his cock twitched obscenely. He immediately covered it with his bunched up jeans. 

Rick was beyond confused. Daryl was still aroused -it wasn't like a man could hide that. But his body had gone rigid with tension and he was glaring at the ground. 

"What did I say about the last time you did this?" Rick tried, softly. When it was clear that Daryl wasn't about to answer, he finished the thought. "I said this is supposed to go both ways."

That earned Rick an exasperated huff, but he persisted anyway. "You were down here taking a cold shower. You didn't even wanna get yourself off. Why?" 

Daryl shrugged Rick's hand off his shoulder and withdrew a bit more, clutching his clothing tighter to him. "Ain't havin' no conversation 'bout this shit," he growled, back to sounding like the Daryl the rest of the world knew.

"Hey, if you want to walk out of here in that condition, that's fine. But I need to know you're not gonna be gone again in the morning."

Daryl's expression softened at that, just slightly. "Ain't goin' nowhere," he muttered. 

"Good." Rick stepped further out of his space, giving Daryl room as he started shimmying into his clothing. His eyes couldn't help but be drawn to Daryl's erection, still at near full mast. 

This wouldn't do. 

"One more thing," he added decisively.

Daryl shot him a wary look.

"If you're gonna leave right now without talking, I want you to do something else for me instead." Rick paused to take a steadying breath, to mentally cross his fingers. "I don't want you to get yourself off, either. From now on, you're gonna wait for me to do it."

Daryl nearly tripped on the pants leg he was stepping into.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thanks to [doverit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doverit) for her continuing help and support <3  
> I have some more chapters nearly done so it probably (hopefully) won't be too long for the next couple of updates.

The winter after they'd left the farm was brutal. Walkers chased them from every haven they found, food became harder to come by, and Lori's pregnancy cast a pall over everything. 

Daryl was at Rick's side constantly, fighting, scavenging, hunting. As the months passed, he couldn't help but be drawn to how determined Rick was to keep them all going. 

It was easy to follow his lead when it became a struggle just to climb out of whatever shithole they'd curled up in for the night, easy to believe him when he said they'd find a place to settle. Because Rick was the first man he'd known that he actually _trusted_. He had honor, like he'd told Carol that one time she'd disparaged him, and Daryl couldn't even fill up a hand with men he'd come across like that. 

He couldn't really remember when he'd started to feel a flutter in his stomach whenever their eyes met, or when Rick's lips curled into a smile at one of his sarcastic remarks, or when they'd take watch together and Rick's quiet, easy company actually felt better than standing alone. A lifetime of forcing himself to ignore those kinds of things made it impossible to pinpoint.

But a couple of memories stood out as the ones that made him realize his feelings for Rick were more than he wanted them to be.

One late afternoon, they'd crashed at a dilapidated farmhouse, weak, cold and hungry. Lori had looked pained, rubbing a hand over her swollen belly, and he couldn't just lie down, even if his whole body ached and he felt near collapse himself. He'd forced himself back up, gritting his teeth against the chill, and told Rick he'd go out and try and scare up some food. 

Halfway out the door, he'd heard Rick's voice, soft and tired, but firm. "Daryl. _No._ "

He'd grown used to following Rick's commands when they cleared houses or had to move in formation through unexpected swarms of the dead, but in that moment it had thrown him a bit.

He'd stopped and turned, though. 

"We can hunt in the morning. You're just as worn out as the rest of us." The look on Rick's face wasn't one Daryl had ever seen turned towards him before. 

"M' fine, ain't gonna be long," he'd muttered back, the concern in Rick's eyes only making him want to try harder. 

"It wasn't a question," Rick had said. "You can't go alone. Come back and lie down." His tone had reminded Daryl of the way he sounded when he spoke to Carl sometimes, exasperated but full of care. 

And instead of bristling at being ordered like that, the way he would've with anyone else, Daryl found himself turning around and crawling right back into his sleeping bag, a confusing arousal blooming inside him as Rick gave him a short nod of approval.

A few days later, Rick caught him emptying the remainder of his plate of food onto Lori's when she'd gotten up to relieve herself. Rick had handed him his own partially eaten dinner then, and when he shook his head to refuse it, he'd said, "I know it's not the first time you've done that. You need to keep your strength up, too."

When he'd refused again, Rick had told him, "Eat. I don't want that plate back til it's empty." He'd said it with a bit of a smirk but he'd sounded firm nonetheless, and there was that concern in his eyes again, honest concern Daryl couldn't remember ever feeling from another man. It came with another surge of warmth in his belly as he took the offered food, as he saw that Rick seemed pleased when he did. 

He didn't understand why times like those would've gotten him embarrassingly hard. It felt more shameful than all the rough, painful fantasies with imaginary men, or the way he'd need to hurt himself sometimes just to be able to come. 

It was that kind of shame and confusion plaguing him now as he lay in his bed, fucking _throbbing._

Once Rick had come down his throat and the focus was back on him, he'd panicked, afraid of what else Rick might find out he liked. He couldn't trust himself. He'd lost control again, like in the generator room, and the woods earlier. But this time it'd been too much. It was already different in real life, with Rick, than it'd been in his imagination.

He'd finished dressing at lightning speed and hightailed it the fuck out of the shower room before Rick could see how red his face had flushed. If his brain hadn't still been so hazy, he might have had a better comeback to Rick's order than a weak attempt to huff a short laugh, trying to pretend he'd taken it as a joke. 

He'd made it back to his cell on autopilot, his whole body thrumming with arousal, and threw himself down onto his back on the bed.

Just the fabric chafing against his dick was unbearable right now. He tore open his fly and his freed cock sprang up towards his navel. He ran a hand up the length of it and shivered. Wouldn't take more than a few strokes... 

_I don't want you to get yourself off._

He snatched his hand away, obeying the low, commanding drawl echoing in his head without thinking. It made the sharp ache in his cock about a thousand times worse.

Rick wouldn't know, he told himself. Then wondered why the hell that should even matter. He was a grown-ass man, no one controlled his body but him.

Slowly, his hand drifted back towards his dick. 

_From now on, you're gonna wait for me to do it._

His arm snapped back to his side and his cock jerked untouched, a warm drip of precome oozing onto his belly. He should be fucking empty already, the way he'd been leaking the whole night.

Rick _had_ to have been fucking with him. He couldn't possibly think he had that right. He'd pussied out and fled before he saw the smirk on Rick's face, that was all. He gave his dick another tentative stroke and his whole lower body tensed and quivered.

Or maybe he really wanted him to wait. 

He replayed Rick's words in his head again, just as he'd heard them. 

A second later, his hand was balled into a fist and pinned tight to his thigh, and he was practically whimpering with need. 

He'd spent the day trying to forget the feeling he'd had in the woods. That feeling of being _Rick's_ , something owned like his Python or his duty belt. It felt all kinds of wrong, but it left him so desperate that by the time night fell, he'd nearly gone to Rick to try and stir something - _anything_ -up, knowing little Asskicker was sleeping in Carl's cell.

Vague, humiliating urges for Rick to use him, maybe make him pay somehow for endangering them earlier, or for not sucking him off the way he should've, propelled him halfway to Rick's cell before he'd come to his senses.

He'd taken himself to the showers instead. Dousing himself with cold water was more what he deserved for the sick thoughts running through his head, anyway. 

Now here he was, still tasting Rick's come in his mouth, acting like his own dick was suddenly off limits in the privacy of his own damn bed. 

Well, shit, he found himself reasoning, it wasn't like he couldn't wait. He was more than used to denying himself. Hadn't wanted to get off tonight in the first place.

And he didn't want to fuck this up.

He knew he could protect Rick's family. He could hunt to keep them fed. Fight to defend them. Knew he'd take a bullet for them without thinking twice. On those fronts, he knew he wouldn't fail Rick. 

But this.This was different. He could fuck this up beyond repair. Leave Rick so disappointed that he'd decide he'd made a mistake. Whatever this was between them, it didn't have a set of rules to follow, at least not a set he knew anything about. 

Except for the one he'd just been given.

He took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. Then he rolled onto his side and shoved his hands resolutely under his pillow. 

Something about leaving that up to Rick felt right, even if he knew it wasn't supposed to. 

At the very least, it meant he didn't have to think about it anymore right now.

That alone was soothing enough to let the throbbing in his cock slowly dissipate, and let sleep take him.

* * *

For the second day in a row, Rick woke in a bright mood, wide awake and clear-headed the second his eyes opened. The gears in his mind were already turning; he had plans today. He and Carl had building to get to. He didn't have any doubt that Daryl and Glenn would find those wild pigs eventually, and they'd need an enclosure ready.

Carl was up and feeding Judith in the cellblock's family room as Rick exited his cell, and the sight lifted his spirits even more, even if it also brought him some uneasiness. What he'd gotten up to with Daryl was too fresh in his mind, and what he'd started to fantasize seconds before laying eyes on his children, even worse.

It also occurred to him that he might've screwed up again. 

He'd checked on Daryl when he'd come back to the cellblock last night, padding quietly up the stairs in his socks and relaxing when he'd heard slow, steady breathing from the hunter's darkened cell. But remembering the way he'd abruptly shut down and ran off again, he was reminded of how carefully he needed to tread, especially in light of what he'd seen last night. 

Glenn strolled out of the cell he shared with Maggie, dressed and ready to go. He looked puzzled as his eyes scanned the room. "Daryl's not up yet?" His brow furrowed with concern. They all knew the hunter was an early riser and not one to lag around in bed if there was something that needed done. "He wasn't drinking again, was he?" he asked in a low voice, mindful of Carl overhearing.

Rick shook his head and found himself a little defensive, even though he realized Glenn was just worried. "It's barely daylight. I'd hardly consider that sleeping in." 

Glenn trotted up the stairs to Daryl's cell and a few seconds later Rick heard him dragging something metallic, maybe his knife, back and forth across the bars of Daryl's cell, making an annoying racket. He heard something growly and incoherent in response. 

"What the hell, Dixon?" Glenn called out playfully. "Why am I the one waking _you_ up?"

A few beats later Rick heard a grumbled, "Don't get yer panties in a knot, I'm comin'." Daryl's voice was still thick with sleep, and Rick was suddenly struck by curiosity, over what it might be like to wake up hearing that husky whisper in his ear, to feel that warm, sleep-heavy body pressed into his side. 

"Dad." 

Rick startled guiltily and turned to his son.

"Can I go with them?" 

He already heard the undercurrent of annoyance in his son's voice and knew where this was going. "I think you already know the answer to that one."

"It's been two months since you let me go anywhere." Of course, Carl emphasized the two months like it'd been a lifetime.

"And in another two months, it'll be four." Rick knew that would irritate him and felt petty for not caring right now. 

"We can't just hide."

That again. Carl knew how to push his buttons, too. "Is that what we're doing? I thought we were starting a farm."

"Hershel's a farmer," he said flatly. "We're not."

"Not yet."

"Zach can help you build a pigpen. All he does is try and hang around Beth anyway." 

Rick had to credit him for trying to kill two birds with one stone there. But the idea of arguing this until one of their tempers snapped and sent the day spiraling down the toilet made his stomach start knotting up. 

Then, out of the blue he heard Daryl's gruff tone behind him as the hunter stopped on the way out of the cellblock with Glenn. "Y'think yer old man wants to be stuck with that pain in the ass all day? Boy's a damn motormouth. Besides, if you don't learn how to build nothin' you'll grow up to be a dumbass."

Rick watched Carl's face go from crestfallen to understanding resignation in seconds and turned to throw Daryl a grateful nod, only to have the hunter duck his head like he couldn't bear to meet his gaze. Rick didn't know if it was self-consciousness in front of the others, or regrets over last night, but either way, he didn't like seeing Daryl uncomfortable.

Maggie came stumbling over half-asleep to take Glenn's face in her hands and give him a long, lovingly chaste goodbye kiss. 

"C'mon, Short Round, time's a wastin'," Daryl muttered, fiddling with his crossbow strap impatiently. Maggie flipped him off good-naturedly behind Glenn's back and kissed him again, slower, before releasing him to follow Daryl, already heading for the exit.

"Be safe," Rick called to their retreating backs, hoping somehow Daryl would hear more in it right now than the customary goodbye they'd all grown used to.

* * *

They returned near dark, the flatbed of the pickup now holding a pregnant sow pacing in the cage they'd used as a trap. 

Daryl was feeling good. He'd delivered on what he'd told Rick he would, and as Glenn pulled the truck up to the gates, he saw not only Maggie, but Rick on hand to let them in. Warmth spread through his belly, and lower. 

_Fuck, not again,_ he thought. He'd been battling unwanted wood all day as he and Glenn watched the trap they'd set for hours until their quarry wandered in. They couldn't talk much, or in more than a whisper, for fear of alerting any other animals, so all he'd had to focus on was the slow-growing ache below the belt that had begun the second his eyes opened this morning. He'd never been this horny in his life.

Taking a piss was torture. Touching himself that briefly before tucking his frustrated member away was a reminder that for some fucked up reason he didn't want to understand, he was still doing what Rick had told him to. Just acknowledging that kept his cock twitching in his jeans the whole day, despite Glenn sitting right next to him. 

They parked, and the second Glenn stepped out of the truck, Maggie was embracing him with a breathy hum of relief. Daryl got out of the passenger side and nearly collided with Rick, coming up alongside the parked vehicle. 

He felt heat prickle up the sides of his face as Rick sidestepped his clumsiness with a smirk. "She's pregnant," Daryl blurted, then felt like a fucking idiot. "Uh, the sow is."

Rick nodded, the smirk splitting into more of an amused grin, and Daryl kicked himself for his jangling nerves. "Y'got that pen built?" Daryl asked, sounding more irritable and impatient than he actually was.

Rick nodded, one eyebrow arching curiously. "Get in, let's take her to it."

Daryl jumped back into the truck, sliding across the seat into the vacated driver's side, heart starting to race as Rick got in and he realized they were alone in the closed-up cab. Rick's scent had become as familiar to him as his own after so many months of living close, but now that earthy mix of leather and sweat made the dull throb between his legs start pulsing double time. 

"Thanks for this morning," Rick said once Daryl started the ignition, pointing towards the part of the field where the new enclosure had been built. 

"For what?" 

"Shutting down a fight in the making. I couldn't have gotten him to quit so easy."

"S' nothin'," Daryl shrugged, disgusted that his body continued to thrum with arousal while Rick was speaking about his son. "Figured he's already pissed he ain't allowed to carry. This way he can't hold that against you, too."

"Coming from you, he took it pretty well. Maybe you need to play the heavy more often."

Rick's had said it lightly but by the time Daryl glanced over, his brow had furrowed and his mouth had settled into a tight line. A couple of seconds later, he said, "Michonne took off again. Didn't tell anyone, just left a Big Cat on Carl's pillow."

Daryl felt like he'd been punched. "Shit. How long ago she leave?"

"Right after breakfast, I think. She was on foot. I tried to follow her tracks but I guess I still can't track for shit."

"Nah, y'aint that bad no more," he conceded, surprised Rick remembered that jab he'd made so long ago. "She probably covered 'em on purpose." He didn't need Rick feeling bad about that, too, when he was already worried.

"You gonna go after her?" Rick asked after a pause.

Daryl's chest tightened. "You want me to?" His voice came out small and he felt like an asshole. He should've just said, "Yeah, I am," even if he knew tracking her when she had that big a head start and obviously didn't want to be found was a waste of time.

But when he glanced over at Rick, he was looking right back at him, concern in his eyes. "Not if you don't have any leads," he said. 

It made Daryl feel as guilty as it did relieved, that Rick looked like he meant it. But just in case he was only saying it not to put him out, he added, "I'll give it a try in the morning. See what I can see."

He backed the truck up against the opening of the pen and they used a makeshift ramp to get the sow out of the flatbed and onto the ground before releasing her into her new home. 

Daryl was about to hop back into the truck to take it back to the parking area, disheartened by the turn of events, when Rick said, "So. Did you do what I said?" He said it so offhand, his back to Daryl as he secured the gate to the pen, that it took Daryl a couple of seconds to realize what he meant. It sent the blood rushing to his face and his cock at about the same speed.

Before he could figure out how the hell to answer something like that, Rick turned around, catching him still completely paralyzed. He smiled, a wide smile almost as open as the ones he'd seen him give Michonne. "Nevermind," he chuckled. "From the look on your face, I think I'm gonna go with yes, you did." He seemed surprised and more than a little pleased, and it made Daryl flush even hotter.

"Ain't like I had a chance out in the woods with Glenn all day," he shot back defensively. It sounded embarrassingly childish, but he'd never figured out how to banter with the women Merle had tried to hook him up with, let alone a man that had him practically ready to come in his pants again.

Rick's hands went to his hips, head tilting in that way of his. "What about last night?" he asked, like a cop asking a follow up after a suspicious answer.

He was teasing him. Daryl knew it, but despite himself, he blurted, "Nah," cringing at how breathy his voice came out. 

Rick swallowed and licked his lips, eyes darkening rapidly. Then he dropped his head, and took a step back. "You should get some dinner in you. I have some chores to finish up, gotta put Judith to bed and -"

"Yeah, gotta get ready for a run tomorrow anyway," Daryl cut in. He knew when he was being blown off; he wasn't gonna act like a bitch about it. "Gonna hit that feedstore, like I'd told ya. If I can't find Michonne." 

He jumped back into the truck and started it up, feeling stupid for acting like he'd expected something to happen right out in the open. The fuck was wrong with him?

Rick banged a hand on the passenger side door to get his attention before he started driving. "I wasn't finished," he said, and _fuck_ , did that stern tone make his cock stand up and take notice again. "I was gonna tell you to go down to the generator room after everyone's gone to bed and wait for me there."

Daryl found he could only blink back, suddenly robbed of all thought.

"Remember," Rick added, his tone dropping to the register that Daryl was already recognizing as his just-for-them voice. "What I said still stands. Not a hand on it til I get there."

Daryl tried to think of a snappy comeback, something to hide the fact that his throat had constricted and his mouth was suddenly dry as dust. Instead, he wound up giving Rick a short nod, before he could stop himself. 

That got Rick to smile again, his eyes flashing with surprise before taking on a predatory gleam that made Daryl's limbs turn to jelly.

Rick hastily stepped away from the truck as he noticed Hershel making his way towards him, most likely eager to check on his new patient.

Daryl hit the gas and the truck nearly plowed backwards into the pigpen Rick had spent all day building before he slammed on the brakes in a cold sweat of panic. He was so flustered he'd put the damn thing back into reverse instead of drive. 

He drove the truck away, burning with embarrassment at the amusement on Rick's face in the rearview mirror, as he must have realized why.

That Rick looked so damn smug about it should have pissed him off. Instead, he found himself doubting that he'd even _need_ a hand on himself to lose it at this point.


	11. Chapter 11

Rick put his tools away for the day and watched Hershel pronounce the sow in good health. Watched Carl play checkers with Beth across the family room, attempting to sound like a man of the world as she smiled a smile he was too young to recognize meant "this is adorable." Fed Judith and put her down for the night in Carol's cell after she offered, telling him he deserved a full night's sleep once in a while (and little did she know she was doing him a much bigger favor than that). 

But through it all, his mind was mostly on Daryl. 

He'd thrown out that order last night to keep Daryl focused on his arousal and not whatever had driven him off in such a conflicted state. He knew enough from porn he'd sneaked online to know it was something someone with Daryl's inclinations might like. 

What he wasn't prepared for was what finding out Daryl had actually listened would do to _him_. He hadn't expected Daryl to follow through with it all the way into the next day, let alone accept another order to keep it up until later tonight. It left him breathless just thinking about it. 

He waited in his bunk for the last of the lights in the cellblock to go out -Glenn and Maggie's, as usual -replaying all the details he could remember of the times he'd had his hands on Daryl so far. What he'd responded to most. What had sent him over the edge. What had made him uneasy. Luckily, he'd been so riveted during their encounters that nearly every second seemed to be seared into his brain. 

As he sat there reliving the rush of making Daryl come uncontrollably from just his hands and his words, it occurred to him that aside from the fact that he was horny as hell, he still felt as clear and focused as he had this morning. Like he was once again the master of his own mind. 

And at that point, it shouldn't have surprised him that the second he felt that bit of satisfaction, his conscience chimed in to try to tear it all down. 

_You never put this much thought into her needs._

Hearing the little voice in his head now, after it'd been damn near silent when he'd had Daryl on his knees in the shower, left him almost indignant. 

_That's bullshit!_ he found himself arguing back for once. _All I ever thought about were her needs!_

_Then she would've been happy,_ his enemy mind countered, apparently in no mood to take that lying down.

 _She never wanted me like that,_ he thought bitterly, fighting to keep the most regret-filled memories from coming into focus. He didn't think he could take that right now. 

_How could she? You never shared anything with her._

_I tried,_ he insisted. _When I did, it just made things worse!_ For a split second he almost forgot she was gone, that he was only arguing with himself.

 _You gave up. And that's why she's not here._ There. The usual knock-out punch. 

He surprised himself by telling the voice to shut the fuck up. It'd never happened before and it shocked him, sickened him a little, how much he meant it. 

A second later he was already backpedaling. _It's not just for me,_ he pleaded. _Daryl needs this. I owe him. If I have to pay for it, I will. Just -not now._

It was just enough of a concession to quiet his mind and let him relax in his bunk, waiting hopefully for the sound of Daryl's near-silent footfalls making their way out of the cellblock.

* * *

By the time he got to the generator room, Rick's heart was in his throat, but it was from excitement now, not apprehension. _Like a kid on Christmas morning_ , sprang into his head and he smiled to himself at the thought of Daryl waiting there for him like a gift. That didn't feel entirely inaccurate. 

He'd snuck into the first aid station to pilfer some KY along the way. If he was calling the shots, he'd best be prepared. 

Right before entering, he took out the handcuffs he'd slipped into his pocket and hung them from his belt in plain sight instead. 

Daryl was sitting on the table - _that_ table -looking fidgety as hell. "Took ya long enough," he snapped the second Rick stepped through the door. His hard expression faltered and he swallowed hard as his eyes caught on the handcuffs, and Rick couldn't hide his smirk. He'd never made anyone so flustered with arousal before. Daryl almost made him feel like a different man. 

"Impatient?" he asked lightly, sauntering over slowly as Daryl watched him with darkening eyes, dropping his gaze to Rick's chest as he got closer. 

When Rick was near enough, he caught the smell of whiskey on Daryl's breath and the swell of confidence he'd come down here with began to deflate. _Dammit._

Daryl must have read his disapproval, because he blurted, "I ain't drunk," before Rick had a chance to say a word.

Rick was at a loss. He'd been looking forward to this all day, having Daryl helpless with need, finally being the one to give him release. That euphoric rush he'd feel when Daryl might look at him like he was the only thing in the universe. He couldn't stand that he'd still needed some liquid courage to make it down here.

Daryl quickly became uneasy with the silent scrutiny. "Y'ain't said not to drink," he muttered defensively. "Did the other thing, though. I mean, didn't do...didn't...touch..." His voice trailed off as his eyes shifted away and his face went all red. 

Rick's cock started stiffening at the confession, but with Daryl's mumbled words he couldn't tell if his speech was slurred, couldn't tell if he was truly impaired. "Stand up," he ordered, getting an idea.

Daryl slid off the table without hesitation. The unthinking obedience sent a tingle through Rick's length but he didn't like the way Daryl landed a little unsteadily on his feet. 

He pointed to a crack along the concrete floor that ran nearly straight to the center of the room. "Gonna have you walk that line for me." 

Daryl side-eyed him and snorted. "Givin' me a drunk test?"

Rick made his expression as stern as he could without feeling silly. "I am."

"What if I fail?" Daryl challenged, with a lot less belligerence than Rick expected. He was a little breathless and it spurred Rick on.

"Then I'll have you do it again naked," he shot back without thinking. _Too far, dumbass,_ Rick swore at himself immediately. 

Apparently Daryl didn't think so. His expression went from startled to something more like hypnotized. He stared at Rick with unblinking eyes, frozen, until Rick said, "Go on," and waved his hand towards the starting point. Daryl stepped to it, as obediently as anyone he'd ever pulled over on the road. "Nine steps forward, heel to toe, then turn around and come back the same way."

"Pfft, I got this," Daryl scoffed. 

The fact that Daryl so easily accepted worried Rick a little more, especially as he watched him stay on the line with the same hyper-carefulness of someone desperate to get out of a DWI. He turned too quickly and overcorrected to the point of stumbling, pulled himself up straight and just stood there, getting his bearings. 

Rick still wasn't certain if the shakiness was more nerves or alcohol. The only thing plainly visible was that Daryl was very, very hard.

Rick stepped back to the end of the crack where Daryl had started. "Now come back. Or did you forget that part already?"

At that, Daryl either lost his nerve or his patience. He gave up the game and stalked back to Rick, ignoring the line altogether. He looked so intense Rick didn't know if he was going to attack him or kiss him until a fraction of a second before their lips collided. 

Rick couldn't help responding. He gripped the back of Daryl's head, relishing the roughness. Daryl was practically fighting him with his tongue, even though he was letting Rick control how their lips slotted together, letting his head be moved this way and that while he clutched Rick's hips in a death grip. 

The second Rick felt Daryl rut against him, though, he pushed him back. _That_ wasn't up to him right now. 

"That wasn't a solid pass," he said with a shake of his head. "I'm gonna want to see it again." 

Daryl stiffened at that. Before Rick could remember why, Daryl's hands were fumbling at his own belt buckle, starting to undo it. 

Rick had momentarily forgotten his ill-conceived order to do a second attempt naked. And as he saw Daryl hesitate once he'd unzipped his fly, saw his chest start to rise and fall more rapidly, he was appalled that he'd failed to consider that just because _he_ was alright with Daryl's scars being exposed again didn't mean that Daryl was. 

But while Rick was trying to remember how his mouth worked, Daryl made up his mind. In seconds, he'd stripped off his shoes, pants and shirt, ignoring Rick's belated, "Daryl, you don't have to..." 

The hunter kicked the bundle of discarded clothing off to the side and stood there naked and panting, head bowed, hands clenching into nervous fists at his sides. "Said to do it again," he mumbled. "M'gonna." His voice was throaty and rough, his face flushed a dark red. 

The sight of Daryl's engorged cock straining upwards, the tip already glistening with precome, left Rick reeling from a flood of arousal. "Alright," he managed to choke out.

Daryl tried again and all Rick could do was stare, at every inch of that powerful body on display for him, at the play of muscle beneath the supple skin as he walked. He watched him turn back around, slower this time so he wouldn't stumble, saw the flush spreading upwards from his chest and reddening his face. Daryl had schooled his expression back to something impassive, and Rick found himself close to awestruck that Daryl would submit to him like this when it clearly didn't come without a struggle.

He started back towards Rick, a little faster, barely using his arms for balance. His eyes were fixed on a point on the floor just ahead of him. He stopped no more than a few inches from Rick, lifted his eyes to his for a quick second before they settled back around his chin.

In the field, it would've been a tricky judgement call, but with Daryl close enough to feel the heat radiating off his naked body, Rick realized the hunter wasn't the only one whose judgement might be impaired.

"Ya believe me now?" Daryl asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I never thought you were lying," Rick admitted.

"The hell you make me do that, then?" Daryl snapped, suddenly indignant, suspicious. 

Rick was startled. He'd meant it as a playful way to determine if he was too drunk again. And Daryl had willingly taken it farther, with barely any prompting. He had a feeling the reaction was just a reflex, a holdover from a past so fraught with arbitrary attacks that it was second nature to assume the worst even at a time like this, to think he was somehow being mocked or demeaned.

He took account of Daryl's posture, chest puffed out threateningly even as he stood there stark naked, and just answered him earnestly. " _You_ might've thought you were ok. But you thought the same the last time we were down here, and then you took off for days without a damn word. I'm not taking chances with you anymore." 

As the anger slowly drained from Daryl's face, his eyes locked on Rick's and for a few long moments Rick found himself unsettled by the depth of need he saw there. Need that felt deep enough to drown in. 

The hunter blinked rapidly before shifting his gaze off to the side. "So now what?" he asked, his soft, husky drawl sounding way too uncertain.

Rick's hand went to the back of Daryl's neck, gripping it tightly, protectively, as he drew him close. "Now we're gonna figure out how you get to come tonight." 


	12. Chapter 12

Rick kissed Daryl until they were both breathless, any doubts he'd had left about his intoxication washing away the second their lips met. Daryl's hands curled around his sides, clutching onto him with a grip that was brutally tight. It felt more desperate than aggressive, and even though Daryl was kissing back just as fervently, when they finally broke apart his cock had gone considerably softer and there was too much tension on his face. 

Rick's new Daryl-honed instincts told him _not rough enough, not enough force_ , but before he was able to do anything about it, Daryl was already dropping to his knees. 

_That_ wasn't what Rick needed. 

He could get off whenever he wanted to, now that his dick was working again. This was more than that, it _had_ to be. And he didn't like that Daryl might be using it to distract from whatever his own discomfort was.

Daryl was halfway done unbuckling his belt when Rick reached down and gripped his wrists, tight enough to make an impression. "C'mon, get up. It's not gonna work this way." 

Daryl lurched to his feet and reeled back, startling Rick with a burst of words, all hoarse and gritty with emotion. "Can't do this...thought I could, but m'already fuckin' it up an - " 

Rick was on him without thinking, his hand on the back of his neck again to bring their foreheads together. "Hey. Relax," he soothed, quickly losing faith in those rougher instincts in the face of this meltdown. "We don't have to do anything if you're not comf -"

Daryl shoved him off, hard. "You don't get it!" he exploded. "I don't need to relax! I need ya to _hurt_ me!" 

Rick watched Daryl freeze in a kind of stunned horror at the words that had shot out of his own mouth. It wasn't like he hadn't already acknowledged it to Rick in his own way, but saying it outright was obviously not something he'd intended. 

Then all at once, Daryl sprang back into action, rushing towards the clothing he'd left in a heap on the floor.

"Daryl. Wait." 

"Nah, you're right. It ain't gonna work," he muttered bitterly, fumbling for his shirt first. "I ain't normal. Ain't never gonna be, and yer gonna get sick of it, so you might as well jus -" 

"Do you think I would've brought these down here if I was looking for normal?!" Rick burst out, ripping the handcuffs from his belt and giving them a violent shake. After hours spent wavering between exhilaration and guilt, he felt like he was unraveling. "Do you think I would've told you you're not allowed to touch your own dick if I was _normal?_ " 

Either the words or the desperation in Rick's voice succeeded in halting Daryl's movement. He gaped at Rick, his shirt twisted in his hands. 

"Put that down," Rick ordered harshly, forgetting how inappropriate that was since they'd stopped playing. 

It worked all the same. Daryl hesitated, gnawing his bottom lip viciously before dropping the shirt back onto the floor. 

Rick paused too, the strangeness of that catching up to him. But it was also sinking in that Daryl wasn't as drunk as he'd feared. He was pulling away, but he wasn't attacking, wasn't acting reckless. He was still in control of himself. 

Meanwhile, Rick noticed for the first time a couple of thin, almost completely healed welts running across one of Daryl's inner thighs, in addition to the scabbed-over scratches he'd discovered yesterday. "How do you do it?" Rick demanded quietly, before he could talk himself out of it. "Those marks on your legs ain't that old. Tell me."

Daryl sucked in a breath and blew it out hard. His eyes stayed fixed on his clothing on the floor, as if he were considering the option to leave.

Rick ducked his head, trying and failing to catch his gaze, an attempt to anchor him here before he lost him again. Then hurt and frustration took over. "You can walk out of here and we can go back to the way we were before, or you can fucking _talk to me_." 

Daryl lifted his head to shoot him a narrow-eyed glare, and Rick instantly regretted making it sound like an ultimatum. A hollow ache settled in his chest while he watched Daryl struggling and tried to find words to take it back. 

Then, Daryl's face briefly contorted with a shift in emotion. His head dropped, and he mumbled something so low it took a second for the words to register in Rick's brain. 

"...whatever's around that'll work...one'a my bolts sometimes..."

Even that brief a confession cost him; his eyes were trained on the floor and Rick had never seen his face so red. But it let Rick breathe again. Daryl was still trusting him. He was still standing here, not reaching for his clothing. Not leaving. 

"You want me to...use...things like that on you?" he ventured, once he was sure he could safely get words out again through the tightness in his throat. 

Daryl didn't even attempt an answer. But his cock twitched awake for the first time since they'd broken apart. His hands moved reflexively to cover it, but Rick said, "No. Don't..." and without thinking, took hold of Daryl's slowly hardening member. "You don't need to hide that," he murmured, soft and low, thumbing over the head rougher than he would his own.

Daryl's eyes closed, a shudder running through him. 

Rick thought of Daryl saving that all day for him to enjoy, and there was that overwhelming possessiveness again, that felt as natural as it did disturbing. "You don't need to hide _anything_ from me," he told him. "Alright?"

Daryl's slight nod had Rick's heart lifting even higher. And along with it, his cock. 

"Is there anything I _can't_ use?" He was pushing his luck, and his heart beat faster as he realized he might be shutting him down again. But knowing Daryl's past, he wasn't about to go tripping blindly through a minefield of possible reminders. 

"Nah," Daryl replied, more of a rushed exhale of breath than a word, like he had to get it out before he changed his mind.

It was too thoughtless of an answer. It gave Rick the unsettling feeling that Daryl didn't really know what he needed at all. But right now, he needed Daryl too much to back off. "Yeah, we'll work on that," he murmured, almost more to himself. 

He decided to trust his instincts again. "Put your hands behind your back." 

He wasn't surprised when Daryl did, but he wasn't expecting the almost grateful way the hunter's head dropped onto his shoulder as Rick stepped up against him, reaching around his back to snap the cuffs on his wrists. 

They stood there breathing hard and heavy against eachother, until Rick worked up the nerve to move.

* * *

The second the cool, hard steel closed around Daryl's wrists, everything shifted. The click of the metal locks felt final, irreversible, the fight he'd been having with himself forgotten as soon as his face was pressed into Rick's neck. Immediately his breathing deepened and slowed. 

Without warning, he was spun around, Rick's arms holding him tight as he sucked deeply at the bitemark he'd left on him. Daryl couldn't help melting into it, knowing Rick wanted him to stay marked like that even longer. "Don't stop," he heard himself choke out as the pain crested higher and made his cock jerk where it hung.

Rick _did_ stop at that, with something between a chuckle and a growl against Daryl's skin. It wasn't a sound he'd ever heard from Rick. "You're not giving the orders here," he teased, with an edge to it that made Daryl shiver.

Rick guided him to his knees and Daryl's heart started to pound as it sank in that he was completely at Rick's mercy, in a way he hadn't been yet. He was totally naked, unable even to grab for his clothes, couldn't free his arms if he tried. Couldn't do anything Rick didn't let him do. But instead of the fight or flight reflex kicking in, he was so dizzy with arousal that Rick's hands on him were the only things keeping him from collapsing under his shaky legs.

He let Rick bend him over, forehead to the floor, ass in the air. His cock started to throb from the familiar position and the hard, punishing concrete under his bare knees. 

Rick left him like that to retrieve a moving blanket someone had left in a corner of the room. He came back and knelt beside him, folding the blanket over twice, neatly, before pulling him upright by one arm and helping him knee-walk onto the thick padding. 

Daryl's stomach started knotting up. For fuck's sake, he didn't need to be _comfortable._ He started losing his nerve again, but Rick didn't let him. He moved behind him and bent him back over, quick and rough enough to knock his mind empty again.

"Gonna keep you cuffed this time," he told him, and Daryl knew how messed up it was that he was grateful. His eyelids drifted closed.

A warm hand on his inner thigh coaxed his legs wider apart; another between his shoulderblades pushed his chest down and forced his ass up even higher. Being so completely exposed this time, it was inching towards too much. But Rick's long, throaty hum of pleasure once he'd finished arranging him rumbled through him soothingly and froze his limbs in place.

Rick was talking again, a low, honeyed drawl that made Daryl's whole body thrum. ""You wanted me to hurt you. I'm going to. But it's not gonna be the way you think."

The words set Daryl's heart racing at a dangerous speed. 

"You're gonna stay like this, no matter what I do to you. You can talk, you can moan. But you can't move. And you can't come. Not unless I say you can. Think you can handle that?" 

Daryl could barely hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. 

Without warning, a hard slap landed on one asscheek. Daryl let out a startled yelp before he could help it. Rick's bare hand hurt more than he'd expected, now that he wasn't shitfaced like the first time, and he was humiliated by how much it turned him on. 

Then another, shockingly loud in the empty room, on the same patch of flesh.

"From now on if I ask you something, I need an answer." Rick still sounded utterly patient and calm. "I said, do you think you can handle that?" 

Daryl's overloaded brain finally caught up. "Yeah," he whispered, squeezing his eyes tight, his voice rough as gravel. He felt his straining length begin to leak between his legs. 

Rick's fingers unexpectedly stroked along the sensitive underside of his dick and Daryl's hips responded on their own, jerking forward towards the only available friction. Rick smacked his ass again, harder. It stung like a bitch and he squirmed inside at the way it made his cock jump. 

"Did you already forget what you agreed to?" he heard Rick ask.

Daryl couldn't even think through the haze of embarrassment and arousal. "Yeah," he breathed automatically. 

Rick laughed, not the predatory sexy-growl laugh, but a softer one that made Daryl feel warm all over. "No moving. No coming. Clear?"

Daryl nodded right away that time, as best he could with his head rooted to the floor. 

He couldn't find it in him to open his eyes, so he startled when one of Rick's fingers suddenly slipped between his cheeks to circle his hole. He felt the wetness of the lube, a lot of it. A reminder that Rick had come prepared. That he wanted this. Wanted _him_ like this.

His body relaxed, one of Rick's fingers melting into him without resistance. Rick _mmmm_ 'd low in his throat at that, his breathing growing heavier, and the sounds of Rick's arousal made it easier for Daryl to accept another one soon after. When Rick finally saw fit to press into that little pinpoint of need, it took all of Daryl's self-control not to writhe against his hand. 

"You never did this to yourself?" Rick asked, moving inside him only slightly.

Having to answer a question while he was casually impaled on Rick's fingers made his skin flush red hot with that sense of being owned again. Only a tiny part of him still remained that knew to be troubled by how good that felt. He shook his head no, not trusting himself to speak.

"Not gonna want you to start."

Daryl's stomach clenched, his balls pulling up so tight it hurt. 

" _This,_ " Rick said, slowly starting to pump his fingers in and out, "is off limits for you too, from now on. Just like this is." The last he emphasized by running a tortuously slow finger from the base of his cock to the tip. 

This time Daryl remembered not to move, but the effort set his whole body trembling. 

"That's better," Rick murmured. "Let's see if you can keep that up now."

It went on for a long time, Rick's fingers fucking him with a strong, steady rhythm until he was _right_ there. Then stopping to tease that tender place inside light enough to drive him crazy. Then slowly making him climb again. 

Daryl lost track of how many times he was forced up that hill then down again. His cock was leaking steadily now; he opened his eyes briefly to find a small puddle of come pooling between his legs on the blanket.

His aching length hanging completely untouched beneath him kept him from falling over the edge. That, and the sound of Rick's voice, "easy...easy now," whenever he got too close and started to whimper from the sharp, sudden ache of being forced back from the brink, and then, "See? I knew you could hold on for me. Knew you could take it," as he shuddered and came down enough for Rick to start the torture all over again

His thighs burned from struggling to hold their position, his engorged cock was throbbing insistently. But it'd long ceased being uncomfortable. Time stopped mattering. They could've been down here for minutes or hours. 

He felt high, disoriented, and he couldn't remember why he'd spent the night on edge over this, why he'd needed whiskey to give him the balls to make it here, when it was so fucking perfect. He could stay like this forever, Rick's fingers prodding that magic place he never knew existed, murmuring his approval whenever he couldn't bite back a desperate sound, whenever he saw him fight to stave off his release.

After a while he realized he barely cared about coming anymore. Rick's praise had become all he was waiting for. And that cracked something apart in him. 

He forced himself up onto his knees and Rick's fingers slid out of him abruptly, leaving him painfully empty. Rick caught him as he pitched forward clumsily, off balance from the handcuffs and his frayed nerves. 

"Don't want it like this!" he panted into Rick's neck. "Just fuck me!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," Rick was shushing him, his arms forming a solid ring around his body, holding him steady. "I didn't say we were doing that, did I?"

"I don't even...I don't have ta..."

"Have to what?"

"Come. Don't even gotta let me..."

Rick pushed him back, trying to make eye contact. From under his bangs, Daryl saw the concern knotting his brow. 

Rage and frustration surged up to blindside him, dangerous and destructive. This wasn't how this was supposed to go! Rick wasn't supposed to be _worried!_

"Told ya to fuck me!" he seethed at him. "The hell you waitin' for?! If ya ain't man enough, just let me the fuck go - "

The rest of the sentence wound up as a punched-out breath as he was shoved violently back onto the blanket. Looking up, seeing Rick's face, he was instantly guilt-stricken. Rick looked raw. Pissed. _Hurt._ Jesus, his fucking mouth, he never could control it! His chest constricted like a vice around his lungs, a swell of panic rising in his throat. "Rick..." he started brokenly, knowing he'd ruined everything. 

Just like that, Rick's face cleared. Before Daryl knew what was happening, he was being manhandled back into position without a word. Rick's hands were suddenly rough and merciless, turning him onto his belly before yanking him back up on his knees and spreading them apart, shoving his face to the floor. It made Daryl feel small, like he couldn't resist if he tried. But he wasn't alarmed or threatened. He was relieved. 

And before the shame in that was able to take hold, Rick splayed one hand out over Daryl's back to brace himself and brought the other down on his ass with a resounding smack. This time he didn't stop.

Sharp, painful blows rained down steadily, fast and brutal. It was clear that Rick hadn't been using his full strength before and Daryl was left gasping from the shock of it. But it was Rick's voice, low and calm, even if it was a more than a little breathless now, that did him in. 

"You don't decide when I fuck you. You don't decide whether you come or not, or how long I make you wait to do it. _That's_ not your job." The words fell alongside the blows, and even if Rick's hand wasn't showing him any mercy, there wasn't any anger or spite in them. And despite the harsh sting of Rick's palm on his bare skin and the indignity of what he was being subjected to, Daryl didn't even think of resisting. Rick was just taking control, keeping him from fucking this up, and he _deserved_ this, deserved _worse_ for doubting Rick in the first place. 

The painful heat settling into his flesh, the idea that it was _Rick_ making him endure it, suddenly had him on the verge of orgasm. He let out a frantic sound, not sure what would be worse, coming from this, or coming before Rick said he could. But right away, Rick stopped.

A feverishly hot palm curled around his hip, clutching it possessively, and Rick was speaking again. "From now on, when we come down here, your only job is to do what I tell you. You got that?" 

His voice was firm but caring, and Daryl couldn't respond other than to nod into the floor and make a muffled _mmhm_ sound that was more like a whimper. He stayed still, his heart ready to beat right out of his chest, his cock throbbing as hard as his pulse. 

Rick's fingers breached him once more, none too gently this time, and the second they reconnected with that center of need, his whole body surged towards a climax so strong it almost felt dangerous. He clenched up his muscles, trying to stop it - _Rick hadn't said he could_ \- and nearly toppled over from the effort. Instead of letting him catch his balance, Rick seized him by one arm, sat back, and pulled him across his lap. 

His cock wound up lodged against Rick's denim-clad thigh and the friction was like a jolt of electricity through his body. He tried to roll off Rick's lap but Rick pulled him back, pushing his leg more firmly into his erection. And while Daryl's body was shuddering from the sudden onslaught of sensation that brought, Rick plunged his fingers back inside him. 

Daryl had no leverage to control anything. His arms strained uselessly behind him, his cock rubbing against Rick's thigh with every rough thrust of his fingers. All he could do was take it, take whatever Rick wanted to do to him. And with that realization, before he could even choke out Rick's name to warn or beg or whatever the hell might fly out of his mouth, he was coming. 

It wasn't like anytime he'd come before. It wasn't even like yesterday in the woods. He felt it through his whole body, strong waves of ecstasy rolling through him, robbing his body of any control over itself as he came and came and shook convulsively. He forgot where he was, who he was. All he knew was that he belonged to Rick, that he wanted to, was _supposed_ to, no shame in it at all. 

Until he slowly started coming back to himself with Rick rubbing circles between his shoulderblades, shushing him softly, and he realized he'd been letting out a stream of embarrassing little noises while his body was still in the throes of release. And that he'd just come all over Rick's jeans. 

"Shit," he muttered weakly, squirming at the wetness underneath him. "Didn't mean to...tried to hold it, I just -"

"Shhh," Rick cut in, continuing to rub his back, with enough pressure to let Daryl know to stay put. "Told you that wasn't up to you anymore." He sounded mellow, relaxed. A little amused, even. "I didn't exactly give you a choice." 

He felt Rick's fingers around the edges of the handcuffs then, felt them click open to release his wrists. His stomach flipped, suddenly fully conscious of the position he was in, sprawled naked over Rick's lap. Rick's hand smoothed over his ass, cool and soothing on the burning skin and he quickly forced himself to slide out from under the gentle touch to grab for his clothes, unable to look at Rick at all now.

Then he froze, hit with a stab of even deeper shame. 

"Fuck, you didn't..." Rick hadn't even gotten off. Hadn't gotten a damn thing from any of this except a lap full of come. Daryl was disgusted with himself, for being such a selfish, pathetic -

"Hey!" Rick's stern tone cut his dark thoughts off sharply. He shook his head, his lips turning up into a rueful grin. "I'm good. Let's just say you're not the only one who made a mess of these jeans."

Daryl was stunned. "You serious?"

"Couldn't really help it once I had you against me in my lap like that. You can come and clean me off if you don't believe me," Rick smirked, shaking his head as he stood up and looked around for something to use. 

In Daryl's still-hazy state he took Rick seriously, taking a step towards him, a thought in his head to use his mouth, before he picked up that he was kidding. Rick seemed to have caught it too, his expression shifting to something more self-conscious. "I'll take that rag you always keep in your pocket, if you have it," he suggested gently.

Daryl nodded, feeling like an idiot. He snatched it out of his pocket and tossed it to Rick as he picked his pants up and started stepping into them. 

They were silent as Daryl dressed himself and Rick wiped as much of his come off the outside of his pants as he could, not bothering with the inside. When Rick went to start folding up the come-stained blanket, Daryl rushed to do it instead. 

"Nah, I got it," he mumbled, tugging it free of Rick's fingers. He was mortified enough at the mess he'd made, he wasn't about to let Rick worry about this shit, too.

"If we keep this up, we're gonna have to start doing our own laundry," Rick chuckled. 

"Yeah, no shit," Daryl muttered back, trying not to show how utterly relieved he was that Rick didn't seem disappointed. And how worried he was at Rick using the word "if". 

He was hit with a near-overwhelming urge to throw himself at Rick, bury his face in his neck and breathe in his comforting scent again, feel Rick's arms wrapped around him. Feel like he was _his_ just another few seconds before he had to go back to his cell alone and deal with the memories of what he'd just let happen. The sheer strength of that need was new. Foreign. Scary.

Instinctively, he started backing towards the door, the soiled blanket folded up in his arms. Rick stepped closer to lay a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "We good?" he asked.

"Yeah," Daryl rushed to assure him, even though he couldn't help recoiling from the light touch and gentle tone. 

Rick drew back a little. "You sure about that?" he asked softly, cocking his head. 

"Said so, didn't I?" Daryl snapped, without meaning to. "Jus'...gotta get up early, is all," he finished lamely, already stepping further away from Rick towards the exit. He could tell he wasn't in his right mind yet, wasn't quite back in control, and if he didn't get away from Rick fast he was liable to embarrass himself worse.

Rick nodded in understanding but a shadow fell over his face, and Daryl found himself worrying that Rick might be regretting things already. Just the thought gave him a pang in his belly. 

Fuck, this was bullshit, he wasn't this weak! Mumbling a hasty, "G'night," into the awkward silence, he opened the door and rushed out, only to be frozen in his tracks by Rick calling his name. He turned to face him, barely able to make him out now in the unlit hallway.

"Next time we do this, no alcohol," Rick said, his voice husky and low in the quiet corridor. "Just consider that another rule. Since you did so good with the first one."

Daryl could hear the smile in the last part, and he was grateful for the lack of light as he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. "Got anymore?" he blurted, that needy part of him momentarily taking over. 

Rick let out a breath. There was a pause, and Daryl could have kicked himself for rolling over and showing his belly again like that. He figured it was probably for the best that he couldn't see Rick's expression.

"Take a walkie with you tomorrow," Rick said finally.

Not exactly what he'd expected, though somehow even that benign a command made his spent dick give a little twitch. He grunted his assent, feeling stupid for being a little disappointed, and went to beat a hasty retreat.

But before he did, Rick added, his voice growing softer, more serious, "And every time you leave the gates, from now on," and Daryl had to swallow around the sudden thickness in his throat before he managed to say, "I can do that."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap it's been over a year since I've updated this. 
> 
> I have a few more chapters finished but before I disappear for who knows how long after that, I promise I won't leave it at a totally shitty place. I'm still editing so I can't commit to a posting schedule but I guess(hope) they'll all be up in the next couple of weeks. 
> 
> Thanks as usual to [doverit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/doverit), for continuing to be an awesome beta and sounding board :)

The second Rick was alone in the dark corridor, he was crashing.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, letting the coolness of the concrete seep into his overheated skin through the thin t-shirt, trying to call back that fleeting, blissful peace. 

It didn't work.

He'd wanted to fuck Daryl. Push past that barrier he'd felt out in the woods and in the shower room and just _take_ him. Make it something irreversible. It wasn't like Daryl hadn't made it plain that he wanted it. 

But the way it almost happened, the way he'd nearly let Daryl goad him into pounding into him like an animal, into using his dick to _hurt him_ -

The urges Daryl brought out in him were unsettling.

_If ya ain't man enough, just let me the fuck go._

The challenge had felt more like permission than the red flag it should have been. He had a feeling Daryl would've let him do anything as long as it wasn't gentle, and he was disturbed now at how good that'd felt. His dick was a lot thicker than the fingers he'd used on Daryl; there was no way it wouldn't have been painful. Only that little whisper in his mind again, that sounded like her - _this isn't you_ \- had stopped him. 

He'd never been a violent man. Never felt any urge to strike Lori, no matter how angry he got. Never laid a hand on Carl. He'd learned since the old world ended that he was capable of brutality he'd never imagined, but he'd never taken pleasure in it. 

Getting off with Daryl, getting off _inside_ Daryl, while he might actually be causing him pain? That was wrong, sick. 

Even if Daryl couldn't have made himself any clearer.

_I need you to hurt me_.

Rick hadn't. But now he knew he could've. Even after seeing those scars on him, even though Daryl could barely look him in the eye or stay in the same room after, he could've. 

He'd already let Daryl strip naked without even thinking to take off his own clothes. Bit him, manhandled him, said things he was cringing to remember now - _from now on your only job is to do what I tell you_. Left Daryl's ass red and raw. Sure, it wasn't anything close to serious pain, but Daryl hadn't let him know that was ok, and he'd just _done_ it, something so demeaning he probably deserved to be punched in the face. 

Not that Daryl could've done that even if he'd wanted to. He'd left him in handcuffs. 

What the hell was he doing? This wasn't some porno fantasy, this was Daryl, the man who'd had his back without question practically since the day they'd gone back to Atlanta for Merle, who'd stood on watch with him silently through those early sleepless nights after he'd lost Lori. 

He was grateful that at least his dick had the decency to wait until he'd had Daryl writhing with pleasure again before it shot off like a rocket.

He lingered on that memory, instead -Daryl sprawled wrung-out and sated across his lap after he'd made him come, letting himself be soothed and petted, even over the scars he kept so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

_That_ , at least, didn't feel wrong.

Daryl might've only allowed it for mere moments but it'd filled Rick with that beautiful, empty-headed calm again. It'd come with the strangest feeling this time -that they weren't two men who'd spent entire lives in different worlds. That Daryl was a fixture in his life as old as Shane. 

Though if that were the case, he thought vehemently, there was no way he'd have let Daryl wind up with those scars in the first place. 

He batted those thoughts away. They were ridiculous. Post-sex sappiness that he just didn't have enough experience to avoid. That's what Shane would've told him. No way could it be anything else. It was too soon, mere months since she'd gone, what kind of man would that make him?

He made his way back to C-block, a vague feeling of dread beginning to gnaw at him. By the time he got to his cell, his heart was in his throat and he didn't know why. In the darkness, he stripped off his sticky boxers and jeans, moving towards the corner where he kept his clean clothing. 

His arm brushed the shirt hanging on the hook next to the door and the touch of the soft flannel on his bare skin sent a shiver through him. 

_Don't think about it._

Numbly, he slipped into a fresh pair of boxers, fighting the urge to -

He couldn't help it. He snatched the shirt from its hook and clutched it to his face, sucking in deep, slow breaths, trying to catch any trace of the smell of her left. 

It was finally gone. 

All he had now was the family photograph Michonne had helped Carl retrieve when they'd gone back to King County to scavenge weapons. 

One picture.

He fought back a rising tide of panic, tried to think of Carl and Judith. _They're_ what's left of her. They're all that matters. 

But Carl barely trusted his judgment anymore, and Judith was sleeping in another cell. Not because Rick needed to rest but because he'd needed _Daryl_. 

He'd never let himself do anything like this -chased his own wants, consequences be damned. That'd been Shane, not him.

The last words Lori had spoken to him before he'd been shot and woke up alone in that hospital came back to him, clear as if he'd gone back in time to that moment.

_Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all._

She'd picked a fight about something trivial, one of those fights that were never really about whatever they happened to be arguing about. He'd wound up shaking with fury, that she'd thrown that at him right before he had to leave for the day, with Carl right there at the kitchen table looking lost. He'd forced himself to walk calmly and resolutely out the door, making sure not to slam it. Swallowing the hurt and frustration because he couldn't trust himself not to. Carl was there, for Christ's sake.

But he saw it now. Why she'd been so bitter. 

All those times she'd complain about him working late, finding all sorts of justifiable ways to be anywhere but home -and being _somewhere else_ even when he was -he finally got it. He'd never been the man she thought she'd married. The man who could've kept her from ever turning to Shane. Who could've kept her alive. 

_You're the one pretending._

The Lori in his dream had been right. He'd done all the things he thought a good husband was supposed to. And he'd loved her, he _had._

But she'd felt it all along. The part of him he'd always tried to hide. That ever-restless part that knew he'd made a mistake, well before they'd had Carl. 

After Carl, when he finally knew he'd never leave, he should've tried harder. He could've, but he didn't. Then, after Shane, he wouldn't.

He'd made sure she was fed. Safe. But that'd been it. That was all he'd had for the mother of his children, the woman whose youth he'd eaten up, who'd spent every second after her one mistake trying to make up for it.

It hadn't even been a mistake. She'd thought he was dead. He'd known that, she'd told him that, he'd never doubted that.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

Holding Shane against her was nothing but him trying to escape the blame for all those years of pretending, so he could feel like the good guy, the _victim_ , instead of the man who'd never tried hard enough to make her happy. Who was still around to feel things he'd denied her the chance to. 

Tears were prickling under his eyelids, the lump in his throat swelling up to choke him. 

He took the shirt to bed with him. Holding it to his chest, he cried until he had no tears left and exhaustion took him.

* * *

As soon as Daryl reached his cell, he threw the soiled blanket into a dark corner and grabbed for the bottle of whiskey he'd been working on earlier. His gut was already starting to twist; he needed to get some more liquor in him before it was too late. He'd be up all night if he had to keep thinking about what'd just happened.

He'd just bared nearly every nasty, degenerate part of himself to Rick, and he wanted to hit something, break something, _shoot_ something, but it was the middle of the night and he was fucking trapped here. 

No. 

What he really wanted to do was go back to Rick and take his dick into his mouth. Hear Rick groan with pleasure as he sucked him, feel his hand gripping the back of his head, holding him there like he couldn't get enough of it. 

Rick couldn't have been satisfied blowing his load in his pants. Not when he could've had more. Could've had whatever he wanted.

Judy wasn't sleeping in Rick's cell. He'd seen Carol taking her. He could go to Rick right now and -

What? Ask if he could spend the night? Rick _just_ came, he wasn't fucking sixteen. He needed sleep, not a blowjob.

Fucking stupid. What would Rick think of him, acting like such a bitch? 

He sat on the edge of the bed and took a long pull from the bottle, swallowing hard so it burned his throat. 

Ran his fingers over his shoulder where Rick had bitten him, feeling the slight depressions. It still stung, but only a little. 

He dug his nails into it to feel it more. Rick's teeth on him. It made his dick give a sluggish twitch.

Yeah, he already _knows_ you're a bitch, he thought darkly.

Rick was alone in his cell, though. That didn't happen all the time. The idea of sneaking in and crashing on the floor hit him. It's not like there was room for two grown men to fit comfortably on these beds anyway. That way he could be there to blow him when he woke up.

Fuck, what was _wrong_ with him?

He sloshed more liquor down his throat, trying not to think of what he must've looked like handcuffed and bent over in front of Rick like he'd been. God that was humiliating. 

Then Rick spanking his ass like he was a fucking child. Like he couldn't take anything harder. 

He wished he could forget that it'd nearly made him come. 

_You don't need to hide anything from me._

Rick didn't know what the hell he was talking about. There was plenty he needed to hide.

He thought of that first time Rick had taken off his belt, with him bent over the table. That split second where he'd wondered with a dizzying thrill if Rick was gonna whip him like that, if that was something Rick could be into. 

He'd wanted him to, so bad.

He reeled from the memory in disgust and took another hard, painful swallow.

Now he was remembering the feel of Rick stroking his back, the warm skin of his palms, calloused from working the fields, catching slightly on the raised, ropy scar tissue before coursing steadily past it. 

Pretending not to notice. 

Yeah, Rick would never do anything like that to him now, not after seeing all that damage. He'd go easy on him, even if he didn't want to, because that was the kind of man Rick was. 

It made him want it even more. 

Fuck, this whiskey wasn't doing its damn job. He raised the bottle, guzzled some more. 

Rick had fingered him again, the way he'd finger a pussy. Was that even something fags did normally? 

He realized he'd just considered Rick a fag. Pretty ridiculous that after all that'd happened, he hadn't really been thinking of Rick that way, not the same way he thought of himself.

Maybe because Rick wasn't the one begging for a dick up his ass. 

Still, men fingered women when they wanted to fuck them. So why hadn't Rick fucked him? They weren't outside this time, he wasn't _completely_ shitfaced, and Rick sure as hell wasn't squeamish about his ass, the way he'd had his fingers all up in him like there was nothing to it.

Maybe Rick thought he'd catch something, maybe he didn't believe he'd never done it before. Maybe he should remind Rick in case he'd forgot. He couldn't stand the thought of Rick thinking he'd let anyone else do shit like that to him. He still had _some_ pride. 

How the hell would he even bring it up though? "Hey Rick, y'know how I been beggin' for it like a ten dollar whore? I ain't never been like that before, it's just with _you_." 

Nah, that conversation wasn't happening. 

The bottle was emptying rapidly.

But Rick said there'd be a next time. He knew about all that bad shit, didn't even get to come the right way, and he _still_ said there'd be a next time. 

He'd brought handcuffs. Even after seeing his back, Rick had brought handcuffs, told him to get naked, made him stay naked the whole damn time without taking off any of his own clothes.

Daryl was getting hard again. 

He was kicking himself for running off so fast now. He just hadn't figured out what was supposed to happen _after_ and he'd pussied out. 

Rick hadn't been pushing him away. Rick asked if they were good. Like Rick thought he'd fucked up or something. 

Like there was any way he could.

He put the bottle down and stood up. Maybe Rick didn't need a blowjob but maybe he could use a back rub or something. Kind of a girly thing to do for another man but hell, it's not like he wanted Rick to be the girl in this thing so he'd have to make his peace with that. 

_That_ Rick should let him do, even though he was already a little drunker than he'd been. He hoped the no drinking rule was for sex, not other stuff. A backrub wasn't anything like a blowjob. A backrub would feel good whether Rick was horny or not.

Maybe Rick would have his shirt off. Sometimes he slept like that; Daryl had caught glimpses of bare chest through the space sometimes left between the wall and the privacy sheet Rick used. 

He wanted to touch him so bad right now -Rick's _bare chest_ , fuck, his _shoulders_ , all that lean, hard muscle under his palms. In all they'd done he'd never just slid his hands under Rick's shirt and touched his bare skin. A few weeks ago it would've been unthinkable. 

He was hard as hell now and the urge to go to Rick was becoming unbearable. He'd never felt a craving like that for a person. Hell, he'd never felt a craving like this for _anything._

He didn't want to get off, though. He just wanted to make Rick feel good enough that it wouldn't feel so wrong that Rick had spent so much time on him already. He hadn't deserved that. If there was a next time, if he got to come he'd at least want to feel like he'd earned it.

He left his cell and walked as quietly as he could down the metal stairs, butterflies in his stomach making him queasy along with the alcohol on an empty stomach. 

He got as far as right outside Rick's cell when he heard it.

Crying. Soft and barely audible, but he recognized it all the same. 

He'd seen Rick cry when he'd found out about Lori. Watched him literally collapse to the ground under the weight of shock and grief. Seeing the best man he'd ever known suffer like that had nearly knocked him down, too. He'd known in that moment that he'd do anything to keep Rick from being broken like that again. 

Now Rick was sounding just as broken, and Daryl knew somehow it was his fault. And he couldn't do a thing about it. 

Rick was a man; he wouldn't want to know Daryl was listening to him crying. It'd just make him uncomfortable, make him try to suck it up and hide it. He knew from experience that it hurt worse not to cry when you needed to.

He backed away, slow and careful, making sure Rick would never suspect anyone had heard.

Back in his cell, he killed the rest of the bottle before he could talk himself out of it and waited for oblivion.


	14. Chapter 14

Michonne had taken the main road out from the prison. Daryl picked up traces of her footprints easily along the shoulder. He'd figured he'd be able to. He hadn't lied to Rick about not thinking he was that bad a tracker anymore, but even though Rick might be able to follow a fresh trail, he just wasn't experienced enough to take in all the tiny clues that added together to make a fading or purposefully hidden one apparent. 

It'd never occurred to Daryl to take any special pride in something he'd been doing his whole life. With as much time as he'd spent out in the woods alone, it was only natural his skill had become well-honed. No one he'd known in the old days had ever wasted praise on him just learning what he was expected to. Certainly not his old man, or Merle.

Rick, though. He'd always seemed impressed. He'd shake his head in disbelief when a bent leaf or broken twig Daryl noted led to them finding what they'd been tracking. He'd tell Carl "ask Daryl" anytime the kid had any questions about spoor or what berries were safe to eat or what plants were good for what purpose. Each time, Daryl would get this embarrassing little thrill. Not anything nasty like arousal but a warm, giddy feeling in his belly that he still hadn't gotten used to.

He was feeling it now, riding his bike along the path Michonne had taken, slow and off to the side enough not to ruin any traces or miss any new clues. 

_Trackin' down his lady-to-be so he don't have to worry?_ Merle's voice scoffed at him in his head. _You really are his bitch now, huh?_

It instantly killed that bit of satisfaction. It wasn't like he could deny it. He knew Michonne could take care of herself. Knew she wasn't following any real leads to the "Governor" at this point. Yet here he was again. 

He'd stopped by Rick's cell before anyone else was awake. His feet had taken him there before he'd had any clear idea what to do. He'd just needed to see if Rick was ok. When he'd heard no indication that he was awake, he'd peeked through the privacy curtain and found him fast asleep with Lori's flannel shirt pressed to his face. The one he remembered Rick still kept hanging on the wall.

It drove home the truth better than any words could've. Whatever he was to Rick, it was nothing remotely close to what Rick needed. 

He'd slunk away, thankful he'd been quiet enough not to wake him accidentally, feeling vile for nearly intruding on his grief. As if he could offer any comfort when it was probably what they'd done that'd reminded Rick of how much he'd lost. She'd been his _wife_ for fuck's sake, not some redneck degenerate he'd barely known for a year. 

Whatever Rick had said didn't matter. Rick didn't _need_ someone like him. He could get off like a normal man. Be with a _woman_ , like a normal man. 

Rick was still in mourning. Of course he was.

Despite what'd gone down with Shane, Daryl could tell Lori had been a good woman, a woman like Carol, someone who believed in God and celebrating holidays and all that shit. Who'd thanked him for keeping an eye on Carl when they'd been on the road -trusted him to, like he'd been someone decent and responsible. 

This was some kind some kind of early mid-life crisis to Rick or something. That had to be it. He'd been in the right place at the right time and Rick had been reckless and curious. Grief made people do stupid shit.

He rode past a blueberry bush close to where Rick had pinned him to a tree that first time. It was seared into his mind, Rick's whole body pressed against him, holding onto him while he came in his pants like a fucking middle-schooler. It still made him squirm with embarrassment but what hit him harder right now was the memory of Rick's soft murmur in his ear, _it's ok, I got you._

Afterwards there'd been this blank terror, that when he looked at Rick's face again he'd see disgust even though he'd try to hide it, that Rick would tell him they'd never speak of it again if he wanted things to stay alright between them.

But he hadn't. Instead Rick had said, _nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing at all._

He couldn't have meant it. Rick just had no idea. He hadn't had a lifetime of knowing what shame really was.

At the first crossroad, he jumped off his bike. Even as he carefully scanned the ground, trying to see which way Michonne had taken, his thoughts were stuck on Rick.

That other time in the woods, Rick had held him. Curled his body around his back on the forest floor, lips brushing the back of his neck, one hand resting on his hip. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to lay with him like that. Like it was normal. 

It wasn't normal, not to him. No one had ever held him like that. And it sure as hell wasn't a way he'd ever imagined a man could touch him. 

He hadn't wanted to like it. He knew he wasn't supposed to. A girl would like it; a pansy-ass would like it. He hadn't known what was worse, Rick thinking he was some dirty pervert, or thinking he could be that soft. He'd thought either way, whatever respect he'd ever managed to earn was out the window. But he figured he would've found a way to live with that if Rick still wanted him.

Now all he could think of was that he'd pushed Rick into something he could only regret when he _knew_ better, knew how wrong it was for Rick, for Rick's kids. Hell, even for himself. 

There were men who fucked dudes in prison and women on the outside, but Rick wasn't one of those. Daryl knew all about men like that; they were the types that would pop into his mind when he was at his worst, needing to imagine something violent and filthy enough to make him come when just hurting himself wasn't enough.

No, Rick was nothing like them. Those men vanished from his mind the second his balls emptied. Rick was still here, with his good morals and two kids and some kind of future that shouldn't include the kinds of nasty things Daryl needed just to be able to come. 

Merle used to say, "you don't shit where you eat." Maybe Rick didn't know enough to realize how smart that was, but _he_ did. And it wasn't Rick who'd be wrecked once this situation was done playing out.

Michonne had turned right. He saw half a print, recognized her sole, and with that as a guide was able to make out a little more of her trail. He climbed back onto the bike, ready to head down the road. He'd be gone awhile, he figured. Best radio back. 

He steeled himself to hear Rick's voice, knowing he'd pick up the regret in it even if Rick wouldn't want him to, and went to reach into his saddlebag for the walkie.

It wasn't there.

He swore and punched himself in the thigh. Swore again when he hit harder than he meant to and nearly gave himself a dead leg. 

Jesus, how the hell could he forget something that simple? He couldn't let Carl know he'd found her now. The kid might have to wonder for days if she was ok if she'd actually found a good lead and Daryl wasn't able to spare the time to go back after he found her. Carl was attached to her and he didn't get that way with too many people. He didn't deserve to be worrying like that. 

He started to turn the bike around. Then stopped. 

If he went back, he'd lose time better used for catching up to her. He could lose the trail and she might wind up not being ok after all that, and his efforts would have been for nothing. 

But he already knew that.

He was going back because of Rick. That fucked up part of him was hoping to make it back before Rick found out he'd already broken one of the rules. 

It felt familiar, and when it hit him why, he was disgusted with himself. It reminded him of those times when he was a kid, remembering halfway to a hunting spot with his dad that he'd forgotten the cooler with the beer in it, or some other thing he was supposed to have packed, dreading what was coming when he finally had to own up to it. 

As if when Rick found out, something bad would happen. As if the rules Rick gave him didn't only count when they were about sex, as if Rick might want him to do what he said all the time now. The idea didn't seem anywhere near as wrong as it should.

Well, that was some new level of messed-up, even for him. 

Yeah. This was _exactly_ why Rick didn't need to be wasting time on him. 

And besides, he reminded himself, Rick had been sleeping with Lori's shirt. He shouldn't be fool enough to believe Rick was thinking of him at all right now.

He kicked the bike into gear and started down the road Michonne had taken.

\--

A good distance later, he spotted a smear of blood in the road and some attempts to cover drag marks that led to a drainage ditch. His heart started to pound as he stopped and jumped off the bike to check it out. 

The head and body of a rough looking middle-aged man lay in the dirt, separated. Daryl could tell the man hadn't been a walker when he'd been cut down, and from the way the head was sheared so cleanly from the neck he knew it had to have been by Michonne's katana. 

He searched for signs of a scuffle, any indication she might've been hurt before she'd offed the prick, but found none. 

Looking at the surroundings more closely, he was startled to find horse tracks heading off into the woods along with Michonne's. To his relief, he realized she wasn't being chased. Her tracks weren't that hasty and were obviously trailing behind the horse. With a clear path to follow, he hid his bike under some brush and took off after her. 

He spotted her a little while later through a break in the trees, crouched low and examining something in the grass. She didn't look hurt, or even shaken up. 

"Hey," he called out softly, stopping a few feet out of her sword's reach just to be safe. Her reflexes with that thing were way too fast to risk startling her any closer. "That the dead guy's horse you're followin'?"

She twitched slightly but relaxed at the recognized voice before she'd even turned to look at him. She didn't seem the least bit surprised that he'd found her, and that he already knew what she was up to, answering him like they were already in mid-conversation. "Yeah. Got off and started trying to sweet-talk me into coming home with him, but he got impatient and tried to grab me."

"Prick got what he had comin,'" he said.

Michonne nodded grimly in agreement. "The horse took off soon as he fell." She stood up, adding, "She's still got the bridle on. She could tear her mouth on the bit if the reins get caught on something."

He nodded back, letting her know he was on board, and they kept on in silence. He figured a horse was a damn good ride, worth a little time and effort to track down. He didn't want to leave it out there to wind up as walker chow, or mutilated by the bit stuck in her mouth, either. 

The men he used to know would've scoffed at wasting so much time to save a random animal. Hell, Merle had mocked him for going to help that family on the bridge back when he'd been dumb enough to take off alone with his brother. And they'd had a damn _baby._

He could still see the look of contempt on Merle's face - _Is that something your Sheriff Rick taught you?_

It'd been the moment when it first struck him, how alone he felt away from Rick, even with his brother back at his side. Because it _was_ something Rick would've done, would've understood without question. Daryl had nearly spat back, "he's more of a man than you'll ever be," catching himself before he'd said something so unforgivable to Merle. But right then and there, he'd found the balls to turn away from his brother for the first time in his life and head back to the people who'd come to depend on him. To Rick. 

Right now the memory wasn't exactly comforting. As he and Michonne moved ahead together in their quiet, comfortable rhythm, he was reminded that Rick felt this at ease with her, too. That he had to find that comfortableness just as appealing.

And being a little ways behind her, Daryl couldn't help but notice that ass of hers, that slim waist, the sway of her hips as she walked. It didn't do anything for him, but it made him recall the times he'd caught Rick eyeballing her when she wasn't looking, reminded him that Rick certainly could appreciate it. 

_Quit thinkin' like a jealous faggot!_ he snapped at himself disgustedly. 

The harsh, rasping sounds of the dead split the air, followed by a panicked whinny. In seconds, Michonne's katana was drawn, he'd cocked his crossbow, and they were racing towards the distressed mare. 

They found her surrounded by walkers. Behind her, there were more, dispersed through the trees and ambling towards them. 

Without a word, Michonne made a beeline for the walkers closest to the horse, beheading the three of them with practiced ease. 

He shot the next walker closing in on the mare's flank and raced to mount the saddle as Michonne tangled with another two of the dead. He hadn't been on a horse since Nervous Nelly had thrown him down a creek bank, but the rush of adrenaline made him fearless. 

The second she'd felled those, she was turning to him and reaching up a hand. He took it and yanked her up into the saddle behind him. The overwhelmed horse lurched and bucked, threatening to throw them both before finally bolting away from the converging herd. 

After a few seconds of frantic rushing through the trees, his face whipped by random branches he couldn't duck fast enough to avoid, her arms forcing the breath out of him as she clung on for dear life, they were in the clear. 

The mare settled into an easier pace once she was no longer terrified. Daryl was startled to hear Michonne break out into wild, exhilarated laughter behind him. 

"Now _that_ was a getaway!" she proclaimed breathlessly, her arms tightening around him in an enthusiastic hug.

His whole body tensed up, noticeably enough that her hands quickly shifted to settle loosely at his sides instead.

She probably wondered what the hell was wrong with him. It wasn't the first time he'd reacted like that to her touching him -she'd run a gentle hand down his arm when he'd come back after putting Merle down, but it'd been so unexpected that he'd flinched and it looked like he'd shrugged her off on purpose. 

She'd left him alone, likely thinking he was holding some kind of grudge over what'd gone down, and they hadn't spoken again until they'd met up on the road out of the prison days later and found out they were on the same vengeful mission. 

He tried to steer the horse towards the road but the mare seemed to have other plans, resolutely pulling in a different direction than the one she'd been traveling in while they'd been tracking her. 

"Maybe she's taking us home," Michonne said, when he swore at the resistance. 

"Ain't like that's a good thing. Even a beaten dog'll go home when it's hungry. No tellin' what kinda shit she's bringin' us into."

"For all we know, he could've left someone tied up in his basement or something."

It was a good enough point to make him quit trying to turn the horse around.

"Why'd you come after me this time?" she asked after a bit. "Don't you have anything better to do now that you're on the council?"

"S'posed to be on a run," he admitted. The sun's position was near noon and realizing it drove home how irresponsible he'd been. He hadn't even remembered to tell Glenn he was going out alone this morning, and to wait for him. This run had been his idea; he didn't want Glenn deciding to take any of the new people out instead. He couldn't trust them to watch his back the way Daryl could. 

If anything went wrong now, it'd be his damn fault. If he'd just taken the damn radio, he could've told him now. But no, he'd been too busy being a little bitch about Rick this morning to just remember to do what the fuck he'd told him to.

"So why're you out here then?" Michonne prodded.

"Why're you?" he threw back petulantly. He'd never had to dodge nosy questions from her before; it was one of the things he liked most about her. Where Carol sometimes pressed, Michonne always kept it light, seeming to recognize when she'd gotten close to hitting on something sensitive, knowing to shift the topic before he had the chance to get uncomfortable. Not this time.

"I asked you first," she replied.

"'Cause last time I went back without you, the kid gave me the stink eye the rest of the day." Fuck it, if she was gonna push, he wasn't above laying on a guilt trip. 

He figured it worked since she shut up completely after that. He wound up feeling like a dick.

The horse brought them to a small, run-down house. An old trailer with a crude add-on shed stood next to it. Before they got too close, he pulled back on the reins and muttered "whoa", low and firm, grateful when the mare actually stopped. 

They dismounted and he handed the reins to Michonne, moving ahead to scope out the place. When he was satisfied it was deserted, he stepped back outside to find her emerging from the shed. 

"Just a whole lotta moonshine," she reported.

"Nothin' in the house worth takin'," he told her. "Prick must've been out scavenging when he found you. Don't look like he was here long."

Michonne seemed lost in thought all of a sudden, absently stroking the mare's muzzle. Then she removed the bit and bridle and led the horse to the porch fence to secure her to the railing with some rope from her pack. She climbed the steps and headed to the door. 

He followed her into the house impatiently. He'd already said there was nothing to find, why the hell was she bothering? He was working up to talking her into coming back, wishing he was good at that kind of thing the way Rick was. 

She didn't need to be out here. Rick was going through a rough patch. If he could get her to come back, it was one less thing he'd need to worry about. 

Besides, the quicker they got back, the less time Rick would have to sit with the idea that he might've left without that walkie on purpose, like it was some kind of rejection. If Rick got to thinking that way, he'd be more likely to swear off Daryl for good, sooner rather than later. 

"Nice place," Michonne remarked, looking around the small living room at the cheap, dirty furniture laid out without care, the whole place reeking of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol.

Her sarcastic tone got under his skin, even though he knew she meant no offense. She couldn't have known how familiar this kind of shithole was to him. 

And because apparently his brain wasn't going to stop circling everything back to Rick now, he couldn't help wondering how many calls to places like this Rick had answered back when he was a cop. What he'd think of Daryl if he knew how long he'd continued to live with the man who'd beaten him bloody too many times to count. 

Probably, he'd never lay a hand on him again. 

Michonne was checking the back door and the windows. 

"You plannin' on movin' in?" he muttered.

"I'm thinking about going back to Woodbury," she said distractedly. "Make sure we didn't miss any clues, any hints where he might've gone." 

"Man, we been over that place with a fine-toothed comb. Ain't no way we missed anything." 

"Well that's where I'm going. Gonna spend the night here with my new friend and head over there in the morning." 

"Pfft." He shook his head, growing frustrated. "Bring her back, let Hershel take a look at her. Just wastin' time out here." 

"It's my time to waste." She turned to face him, looking fed up. "Look, if I wanted company, I'd have told you I was leaving."

"The hell's yer problem?" he snapped, insulted. "That trail's been cold for weeks!"

"I'm not gonna find any new leads sitting around the prison."

"That's what you think I'm doin'? Sittin' around?" 

She sighed heavily. "I didn't mean it that way. _You_ have a job to do there. They need you." He rolled his eyes, preparing to protest, but her next words stopped him in his tracks. " _Rick_ needs you." 

His skin felt hot and tight all of a sudden. "That's bullshit," he muttered. "He ain't even runnin' the place no more."

"That's why he needs you. He wanted you on that council for a reason. And you wanted to bring up Carl? He's a lot safer with you back there than out here with me. They all are." 

Fuck if she wasn't good at turning the guilt around on him. He blew out an exasperated sigh. 

"Just go," she said wearily. "Tell Carl I'm gonna have something for him when I get back."

"Nah," he snapped. "You can show him yourself next time you see him." He turned his back on her and stalked out of the house, slamming the door so hard the small house rattled. He instantly felt like an asshole for it but he couldn't bring himself to turn back and apologize. This whole damn day had been a waste.

Still feeling destructive, he snatched a couple of jars of shine from the stash in the shed along the way and stuffed them into his pack, wrapping them each in cloth to keep the glass from breaking. He'd drunk up the last of his whiskey last night, after all. 

His frustration faded as he walked, until all that was left was a hollow, bleak feeling as his mind came to an inevitable conclusion. 

His job was to watch Rick's back. Keep his kids safe. Keep Carol and Glenn and the rest of them safe. That was it. That's what he was there for.

This thing with Rick was a mistake. Daryl didn't want to be some pathetic distraction, some oats-sowing experiment. Not that he thought for a minute that's the kind of man Rick was, who'd use a person like that on purpose. 

No, it was his own fault. He'd pushed Rick, offered himself up like a desperate slut at a time when what Rick really needed was to mourn his wife in peace until he was himself again. 

This time, he'd be stronger. For Rick, he could do that. If he was left with enough of what he'd had before it'd be alright. Respect, loyalty, friendship. It'd been enough before all this, hadn't it? 

He should be grateful he'd figured it out now before he'd let worse things go down between them, things Rick would wind up wishing he could scrub from his memory one day. 

The clatter of horse's hooves coming up from behind startled him.

He turned to see Michonne riding tall in the saddle, like she'd been doing it all her life. She looked so strong and beautiful that it made his chest hurt. 

That was someone worthy of Rick right there.

"Fine, you win, I'll come back with you," she said once she was close enough to be heard. She didn't sound altogether unhappy about it now. 

He took hold of the hand she extended to him and swung himself up behind her, grabbing the back of the saddle for balance rather than deal with the weirdness of putting his hands on her body. It was always awkward, trying to figure out what would be appropriate if he'd been normal and into chicks when the only examples he'd had to go on were men who weren't worth shit. 

As they made their way back to his bike in silence, he tried to be glad that at least he'd managed to accomplish something. She was safe and coming back with him. 

The jars of moonshine thudded against his back as she nudged the horse into a trot, their promise of numbness comforting.


	15. Chapter 15

Carl was at the gate when they rode up later in the afternoon. Daryl was on his bike, with Michonne close behind on the mare. 

The kid's attention immediately turned to the horse. "Whoa, where'd you find him?"

"He's a her," Michonne said as she dismounted, grinning at his enthusiasm. "This is Flame." She'd decided on that name on the way back, for what reason Daryl hadn't bothered to ask. "She was out there on her own so we figured we'd give her a home. Wanna help me figure out where she should stay?"

"Yeah!" Carl nodded excitedly. "Can I ride her?"

"If your dad says it's ok."

"It's ok, I know how," he said without hesitation. "I learned a long time ago." 

Michonne smirked. "Let's ask him anyway."

"He won't be back til later."

Daryl's stomach clenched. "Where is he?"

"Out with Glenn and Maggie. On a run."

"Thought he wasn't doing that anymore," Michonne said. She sounded concerned, but not overly so.

"He had to. We need feed for the animals."

"Coulda waited til I got back," Daryl muttered, guilt already gnawing at him. "Ain't none of 'em goin ' hungry yet." 

"They didn't know when that would be," Carl told him.

God _dammit._

Rick hadn't gone on a run in over a month, part of him taking a break from everything other than his kids and his farming. And Daryl couldn't remember a time that he hadn't been with Rick when he was out there, other than when Rick had gone back to King County with Michonne to find weapons and ammo to fight the Governor. He'd spent that day with his stomach in knots, though he hadn't understood why. Or maybe he'd known, but with Merle there badgering him to "nut up and leave these deadweights behind," hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. 

He knew what must've happened -Glenn hadn't wanted to wait because he'd think Daryl might be gone for days, like he'd often been. Maggie insisted on going with him, and just like Daryl, Rick wouldn't want the two of them to go on their own, or worse, take some rookie Woodburians who'd just be a liability. 

Rick had gone out because of him. Broken his promise to himself, because of him. There was no way this wasn't his fault. "When'd they leave?" he snapped, without meaning to.

"I dunno, maybe 9 or 10?"

It was close to 2; if he hadn't known it from the sun's position, he'd have known it from the bustle of people finishing up lunch under the big shade of the communal dining area.

They could've been gone five hours. The feedstore was no more than an hour away, a straight, easy run. Carl didn't seem seem worried, but he was a kid and so far Rick had always come home.

Michonne's eyes met his and her brow furrowed as she handed Carl the reins and told him he should try walking her for now. "They should be back any minute. Maybe they hit the jackpot like we did last time," she said quietly to Daryl, before turning to watch Carl lead Flame towards Hershel, busy tending to the pregnant sow. 

Anger and frustration spiked through him. She didn't need to be trying to soothe him with that soft voice and that fucking _look_ , like she was worried about him. Jesus, was he that obvious? 

He didn't deserve her concern. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, but all he'd done was screw up. Came back thinking it'd be ok since he'd at least brought her back, only to find that wasn't enough either, because now Rick was out there when he wasn't supposed to be. 

_Get it together, dumbass,_ he swore at himself. It hadn't been that long. Michonne was right, they'd be back any minute. 

He walked his bike away from the both of them, heading for the parking area. Carol came up to him as he was climbing off.

"What happened to you?" she asked. 

The worry in her tone rattled him until he remembered his face was scratched up a bit from the wild horseback ride through the woods. "S'nothin'." 

"Glenn and Maggie waited for you a couple of hours. They were gonna go another day but Rick decided he wanted to go."

" _Rick_ wanted to?" Daryl was even less comfortable with that version of events.

She nodded, eyebrows raised, like she'd found that weird too. "They tried to talk him out of it but he pretty much insisted. So off they went." 

"I don't know what got into him this morning," Carol went on, when he didn't say anything and just started following her to the outdoor kitchen. "It was like he just _had_ to get out there again." 

This was so much worse than he'd thought. Rick had finally been doing ok. He'd been coping with his loss, settling into his farmer life, mending things with Carl, and Daryl had to go and ruin it. And now he'd driven Rick to leave the safety of the prison, probably needing to steer clear of his kids until he emptied his head of all the perverted shit Daryl had led him into.

"Carl was pretty pissed," she said.

"'Cause Rick went out?"

"Because he wouldn't take him with. You know how he's been waiting for Rick to change his mind about not letting him go out or carry a gun."

"Shoulda been me out there," he muttered. 

"You _were_ out there, remember? You can't do everything." She shrugged. "I still think it's good for him -hunting with you, going out on runs again -"

"He's supposed to be takin' it easy!" he blurted, not meaning for it to come out quite so pissed. It didn't slip Carol's notice either, the way she turned her sharp gaze on him.

He looked away, avoiding eye contact. The way she often saw right through him was too risky.

"He can't afford to take it easy, anymore than we can," she said. " No one gets vacations anymore."

There was an edge to her voice he wasn't used to. Maybe it was just that she was worn out from all she'd taken on since they'd settled here, especially with all the kids, but it bothered him to hear her sounding so hard. 

They reached the large, nearly empty stew pot under the cook tent. Carol took the ladle from Beth, who was using it to stir up the bottom, and scooped a serving into a bowl for him. 

He took it, even if he wasn't feeling much appetite. He had to eat, and he was always grateful for her cooking. Since back at the quarry camp, she'd always managed to make whatever they'd scrounge up into real meals, like she was determined to make wherever the group crashed feel like a home. 

"S'good," he mumbled around the chunks of meat he'd immediately shoveled into his mouth with his fingers. 

"It's the venison you two brought back," she said. "We probably have enough left to last a couple more days." She watched him chew, a thoughtful expression on her face. "You should let Rick know you're back. He took a radio with him." 

There was _something_ in her tone at the last bit. Did Rick say something to her? "He don't need me to check in," he scoffed, hoping she wouldn't notice the color rising to his cheeks. 

Her disapproving look rankled him but she didn't push, and he was glad.

\----

A little while later he was picking off walkers clustering at the fences to distract himself, because this was _bullshit_ , they should've been back by now. 

Fuck this. He turned on his heel, determined to head out after them while there was still plenty of daylight left. 

Carl was striding up to him, looking grim. "My dad's not answering the radio," he said.

Daryl's stomach dropped like a stone. "For how long?" he demanded.

"I've been trying for like fifteen minutes."

"Shoulda told me already! The hell were you thinkin'?!" he exploded, heading towards his bike. 

Carl's face twisted with shock and hurt as he hurried up next to him, and it snapped Daryl out of his own head. "I'm on it," he said, softening his tone as best he could. "Just sit tight, I'll go out there. See what's up."

"I'm going with you," Carl insisted, struggling to keep up with his longer stride.

"Nah. You'll just slow me down."

"You shouldn't go alone!" The boy was insistent, reminding him of Rick despite the high pitched kid-voice. 

"Y'think your old man wants you out there, or back here lookin' after your sister?" 

That brought Carl up short. Without anything to argue back, he stopped following, but not without shooting Daryl a look of pure frustration. Daryl knew the feeling, but no way was he risking Carl's safety just to soothe some hurt feelings. 

He hustled over to the vehicle pool and mounted the Triumph. Just as he went to start it up, he heard a car pulling up to the gate. It was an old four-door that he didn't recognize.

Before he knew what to think, Glenn popped his head out the driver door and yelled to Tyreese, who was on watch, to let them in. 

Daryl jumped off the bike, almost toppling it over in his haste, tamping down the urge to race towards the vehicle as it came through the entrance. He started sauntering over nice and easy instead, like his gut hadn't been churning for the past hour.

They were back, they were alive. Whatever had gone on out there, it wasn't cause to act like a damn faggot in front of everybody. He was pretty sure Rick wouldn't want that shit, no matter what became of their thing.

Then Rick emerged from the front passenger door, weakly clutching his side, his shirt drenched in blood, and Daryl forgot all about appearances and _ran._

\-----

Rick was grateful for the pharmaceuticals Daryl had brought back on his last run as he watched Hershel weaving the needle through his torn flesh. A topical anesthetic had numbed him enough to take the procedure without flinching; they had some antibiotics on hand in case of any infection. 

What was supposed to have been a simple run had turned into a complete clusterfuck. 

A tree had fallen to block the road they'd been on. The detour they took brought them straight into a herd that was heading in the general direction of the prison. They'd led the herd off course but without warning, and with hundreds of the dead behind them, the truck stalled out and wouldn't restart, forcing them to abandon the vehicle to escape. 

They'd finally found refuge in an old factory, only to awaken the dormant walkers already there. Somehow Glenn and Maggie had gotten overwhelmed behind him as they made their way through the building. He'd rushed back to help, and in the middle of the fight, fell into some broken metal shelving and lacerated his side. 

They tore open the walkers they'd killed and smeared themselves with their insides until they were camouflaged enough to wade outside through the herd and find a getaway car. 

"Well, it didn't reach muscle tissue," Hershel pronounced. "Be grateful for that." Rick knew him well enough to sense disapproval in his tone and expression. For what, he wasn't entirely sure. 

"Your dad was a beast out there," Glenn said to Carl, watching Rick get stitched up alongside Maggie and Michonne. "Guess farming doesn't make you soft after all."

Carl looked sheepish, having thrown that at Rick this morning right in Glenn and Maggie's earshot, and Rick couldn't help a little flash of satisfaction. It only lasted until he reminded himself how differently it would've gone if they hadn't managed to make it back. 

It drove home how foolish he'd been. After completely falling apart last night, he'd somehow woken up feeling vaguely hopeful. He'd felt even better at the sound of Judy's happy, formless babble drifting from Carol's cell. Then he discovered Daryl gone without a word, without a way to contact him, and his mood had turned on a dime. He'd become so irrationally angry and restless that he'd abandoned his duty to Carl and nearly got Glenn and Maggie killed. 

Daryl had followed them all to the infirmary, vanishing as soon as Hershel had peeled off Rick's shirt and pronounced the wound "not as bad at it looked," without even meeting his gaze once. But Rick couldn't shake the stricken look he'd caught on Daryl's face when he'd first seen him emerge unsteadily from the truck in his blood-soaked shirt, or the way he'd rushed to his side looking close to panic. 

Hershel tied off the last suture and covered the wound with a small bandage. Maggie, maybe sensing Hershel had some words for Rick, asked Michonne to show her Flame and hustled Carl and Glenn out with her. 

The second they were alone, Hershel didn't waste any time. "Listen," he said, "I'm grateful you were there to bring them home safe but it's time to let some of the others do their share."

Rick shook his head, immediately on the defensive even though he knew Hershel was right. He was too busy beating up on himself to let Hershel join in. "They're not ready. If it'd been a new crew out there -" 

"Rick." Hershel cut him off wearily. "You can't afford to take risks like you did today, not after what your boy's already been through. I wish I could get that through to Glenn and Maggie, but she's as stubborn as her mother was and Glenn still thinks he has something to prove."

"If Daryl had been here it would've just been him out there instead of me." 

"That's just it. It shouldn't just be you or him. Or my daughter and Glenn. Or Sasha, for that matter.The rest of the folks here, anyone who's capable, have to learn. They have a stake here too now, as much as we do."

Rick lapsed into resigned silence. He didn't have the energy to keep arguing a point he couldn't defend. 

"About Daryl," Hershel continued, "You know, I've smelled whiskey on him more than a couple of times in just the past few weeks. And it's not social drinking. It's on his own."

"Why're you telling me?" Rick asked warily. Hershel was a former alcoholic; Rick was alarmed that he found it worth mentioning. 

"Because I haven't seen him like that since after he lost his brother. When I asked him about it back then, he got defensive. Said he wasn't some drunk that needed an intervention. I figured it might be better if someone else were to broach the topic next time."

"I've never seen it get in the way of him doing what needs to be done," Rick said, wanting to get off the subject ASAP. The last thing he wanted to think of was how much that was probably his fault, too. 

"So you're already aware of it?"

"He knows his limits," Rick said, feeling even guiltier for lying. For all he knew, Daryl might not know his own limits on _anything._

 _And I'm making it worse,_ he thought.

"That's what I used to think in my drinking days," Hershel was saying. "But I wasn't exactly qualified to make that assessment at the time. He might not be, either."

Rick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could use a drink himself right now.

"All I'm saying is, if it's that kind of problem, he shouldn't have to bear it alone. Even if he doesn't think that's the case."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Rick assured him, just to end the conversation.

Hershel patted him on the shoulder. "Thank you." 

Rick nodded curtly, thinking if Hershel knew what had triggered Daryl's drinking, he'd be anything but grateful. 

That settled it though. He had to face the fact that Daryl didn't know how to handle what they'd started. 

Neither did he, for that matter. 

He'd be damned if he was going to be responsible for making them both unsafe. 

\-----------  
Rick had every intention of talking to Daryl but apparently the man was hell bent on doing everything he could to avoid him. 

He'd stayed occupied in clear view of others, studiously keeping his gaze from landing on anything even remotely in Rick's vicinity. He'd spent an inordinate amount of time tuning up the car they'd brought home then disappeared from Rick's sight some time during dinner. 

Rick experienced a moment of panic at that until he reminded himself that he'd been keeping an eye on the gate the whole time, that there wasn't any way Daryl could've slipped out without his notice. 

He didn't see Daryl again until he reappeared to join Carl, Maggie, Glenn, and Beth for a game of 7-Card Stud in the main room of their cellblock. Daryl had a great poker face even when he wasn't playing poker, but not to Rick, not anymore. Watching surreptitiously while he fed Judy, he realized he'd become so tuned in to Daryl that he recognized all his little tells where the rest of them couldn't. He wasn't surprised when he easily beat the four of them. 

He also wasn't surprised when Daryl snuck the winning pot of candy onto Carol's nightstand before heading up to his own cell, probably so she could hand it out to the kids she was starting to teach in the library. It was such a Daryl thing to do, to give away little luxuries like that to the people that mattered to him without a second thought.

Right before Daryl had started up the stairs he'd hesitated as he passed Rick. His bottom lip was pulled between his teeth and he gnawed at it for a second before moving on. Rick saw the nervous tension in Daryl's face as he'd kept his eyes locked on the stairs ahead instead of acknowledging Rick's obvious gaze. 

It made him feel that much worse for complicating things between them when he couldn't even keep his own head on straight. For all Daryl's toughness and self-reliance, there was something about him that screamed _take care of me,_ and all Rick had managed to do with that was get him off.

He would've followed him upstairs, but he no longer had any idea what he wanted to say.

\----

"So where'd you learn how to ride horses?" Carl asked Michonne, as he followed her to the cell she normally used when she stayed in C-Block with them.

Rick listened curiously from his bed a few cells down. She rarely spoke about the past, just small asides here and there. A dead boyfriend she used to talk to. A background in law. 

"I had an aunt who had a farm," she was saying. "Used to spend the summers there. She taught me when I was about your age."

"Did she teach you other farming stuff?"

"How to clean out a chicken coop." 

"Eeeww. It's gross, isn't it?"

She laughed. "It sure was. You ever do it?"

"No. I'm still waiting for someone to bring back some chickens for the one my dad made me build. There was one on Hershel's farm, but all I had to do was feed them."

"Lucky you."

"Not _that_ lucky. It was right after I got shot."

"Oh yeah, that's right," she recalled. 

They kept talking but their voices got too low to hear clearly and Rick figured they'd entered her cell. When all he could make out was a faint murmur he stopped trying to eavesdrop.

He was glad Carl had Michonne to talk to. She didn't patronize, treated him just enough like an adult that she'd become a real friend. She was good for Carl. 

They'd watched Carl ride Flame around the prison yard after Rick's injury was tended to. She'd gone quiet after that, heading off to the showers soon after. But for those few moments, Rick had felt that same eerie familiarity he got when the three of them sat together to eat. 

He and Lori had stood side by side the same way, watching a smaller version of Carl doing the same thing.

No. He couldn't think about that, he'd lose it again. 

His side twinged, as if his body decided on it's own to distract him.

Exhaustion must've gotten the better of him because the next thing he knew he was startling awake in the dark of night, chasing away the remnants of a nightmare. The herd had caught up with them this time; he'd turned to find Maggie and Glenn being torn apart as they clung to eachother in desperation. 

_I almost let that happen,_ he thought, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

But if he hadn't gone out, hadn't taken charge and pushed them to go with him, the prison might've been facing a herd. 

Or it would've been Daryl out there instead, confronting the same danger. 

There wasn't any right answer anymore, just an endless parade of life or death decisions. Whatever he did or didn't do, the end might be the same. He saw nothing looming ahead but years of darkness. Inevitable, hopeless. 

He didn't feel sane. He had a wild urge to run, out of the cellblock, out of the prison, out into the pitch-black night with nothing but his knife and this sudden, dangerous rage. 

He left the cell, barefoot and unthinking, barely aware of Judy snoring softly in her crib at the foot of his bed.

* * *

C-block was dark and quiet. 

Daryl sat on his bed, methodically cleaning his crossbow. When he was finished, he checked the fletching on each of his bolts. After that, he moved on to his pistol, taking it apart and reassembling it on autopilot. 

He couldn't forget the look on Rick's face when he saw Michonne jogging up to them them as they were on their way to the infirmary.

Even exhausted and injured, his lips had cracked into a smile, one full of relief and glad-to-see-you, and Daryl's heart sank despite the fact that he'd been steeling himself for it all day.

"You gonna be around longer than a minute this time?" Rick had asked her.

"Maybe." She'd smiled back at him, one of her rare ones with teeth and everything. Rick's tiny bit of teasing had done that.

After Rick had cleaned all the blood and guts off him and was sitting in the main room of their cellblock, Daryl had overheard him and Carl talking from his cell above them. Carl was telling him about Flame, how she'd taken a liking to him, how Michonne thought keeping horses might be a good idea since gas would eventually go bad. 

Daryl could hear the admiration in Rick's voice as he agreed Michonne had the right idea, after sounding pleasantly surprised that she knew how to ride. Something she and Rick had in common.

Daryl had felt like shit. He knew he'd done right by Rick and Carl, bringing her back, but it didn't take the sting away any. 

He laid his weapons on the floor next to the bed and flopped onto his back. 

Rick had wanted to talk to him. Daryl had felt his eyes on him every time he'd been in his line of sight, but he couldn't get a read on Rick's intention so like the pussy he was, he pretended not to have noticed and kept his distance. 

He wouldn't blame Rick if he called their thing off. Hell, he'd come to the conclusion that it was for the best himself. But the idea of having a conversation about it, actually hearing it laid out in words, left him paralyzed. 

Daryl had nothing to say, anyway. Rick had fucking _stitches_ because of him. And just because he'd let Rick know what a freak he was didn't mean he was willing to talk about it. It was as big a mystery to him now as it'd always been.

Later, he finally worked up the nerve to hang out for a game of poker just to have something to do in their main room where Rick could signal him if he wanted to. But he hadn't, occupied with feeding Judy and talking to Hershel. 

Yeah, Rick was gonna call it off. Maybe he just hadn't figured out how to say it yet. 

Daryl was too agitated for sleep, but there was nothing to do here in his cell but start on that moonshine and he _knew_ that was a bad idea. 

Maybe he should go take a shower. Maybe Rick wanted to end things but then again, maybe not. Couldn't hurt to stay clean, be ready. Just in case. 

That first time he'd been too drunk to have thought about that, but when he had the next day, he'd been mortified. The day they'd gone hunting, he'd made sure to wash up down there more carefully than he'd ever thought to, and just the idea of making himself ready for Rick's possible _use_ had gotten him so hard it'd hurt.

Remembering that now already had his dick stiffening. He grabbed a towel and stood up. 

He stopped.

If Rick wanted anything like that he would've given him a sign. And if he passed Rick's cell now and he was still up, he might decide to talk to him after all, which probably wouldn't be a good thing if it was something Rick had either forgotten about or was choosing to avoid. 

He sat back down, tossed the towel, and reached for one of the jars under the bed instead. Fuck it. A few shots would help him sleep. He unscrewed the cap and drank. 

He hadn't had proper shine in a long while. The taste didn't bring back any good memories but the warmth soothed him all the same. He made himself stop after the third sip, set the jar down next to the bed and laid down on his back. 

He should slide it out of sight -what if Rick came up here and saw it? 

Nah. If Rick had wanted to talk tonight, he'd have already done so. And he doubted he'd come up here to do it. Rick had only been up here a handful of times, to see if he was up for a run.

It was embarrassing how clearly he remembered each one of those times, like it was something important. 

He halfheartedly ran a hand over the crotch of his jeans. His dick didn't even twitch. It felt wrong, even wronger than usual. He didn't feel like he deserved a hand on his dick right now. 

Wasn't like jerking off quietly would do the trick anyway.

He thought of the bottle of coconut oil in his backpack.

 _You never did this to yourself?_

_That_ made his dick twitch, remembering the sound of Rick's voice.

 _Not gonna want you to start._

Fuck.

 _That's off limits to you too now._

Rick had sounded like he'd meant it. Like his body was Rick's property or something. And Daryl had _liked_ it.

Alone and dead sober, Daryl knew it'd just been dirty talk, and somehow, that made it disappointing. Like Rick was pretending, like it was something fake and put-on, like it was just a game.

_God, I'm messed up,_ he thought. It wasn't _supposed_ to be for real. Rick was normal, and normal people could talk dirty and do weird shit and go back to being normal again when they got tired of it. Or else Rick wouldn't have been married, wouldn't come off like such a fucking boy scout most of the time.

Worrying about it hadn't managed to kill Daryl's boner though.

He sat up and reached into his pack next to the bed, pulled out the coconut oil, and unscrewed the top. He dipped his first two fingers in, removing a glob of the stuff. 

He laid back and considered removing his pants for this -he really didn't want to get coconut oil on his jeans -but changed his mind. He couldn't leave himself so exposed that he couldn't react to an interruption at a moment's notice. With all the sketchy places he'd lived, he'd kept to that rule his whole life.

He'd never had the nerve to try _this_ , though. He could think all the nasty shit he had to, hurt himself however else he needed, but he'd always known anything actually in your ass sealed the deal. He never forgot the first time he'd heard Merle's buddies talking about what happened to dudes in prison. Dudes that couldn't protect themselves and got raped up the ass. 

They were as good as queers, they'd said. Even if they hadn't wanted it, even if they had fucking _girlfriends_ on the outside, they weren't really men anymore.

They'd all agreed it was better to be dead. And if it happened and you killed yourself, that'd be better than anyone finding out you'd let that happen. He still remembered the sinking feeling in his gut as he'd wondered what the hell that said about him.

It wouldn't stop him now. He'd already let Rick seal the deal for him, wasn't any way to pretend otherwise. Wasn't like anyone would know, anyway.

Besides, this was a way to make it hurt _bad_ , that was not only silent but couldn't leave a mark. 

He slid a hand down the front of his jeans, his dick barely registering the skin of his wrist skimming over it, and moved past his balls, careful to keep his fingers tucked to keep the oil from smearing off. 

With the pad of his middle finger he rubbed around the little pucker of muscle, slicking it up, pressing inside up to the first knuckle. 

Within seconds he felt gross, ashamed. Not turned on at all. 

It was different when Rick did it. Still fucking humiliating if he was being honest, but not quite as sick. 

Maybe if he didn't have to feel his own fingers...

His eyes darted around the dimly lit cell. He could hardly believe what he was considering but he knew once he got off, his mind could clear out. 

Nothing looked the right size or shape until his eyes landed on the red handle of a screwdriver peeking out of the toolbox he kept on the floor against the wall. 

Close enough. 

He made short work of sanitizing it with some of the moonshine, then lubed it up and lay back down. 

Shit. This wasn't gonna work with pants at all now.

He compromised, shimmying out of one leg of his jeans and boxers. Now he could bend his legs at the knees and spread his thighs wide enough. 

He did that, and brought the tip of the rounded handle to his hole. He took a breath and nudged at the entrance until it slid in. The hard, unyielding plastic stung as it stretched him; even better was how foreign and not like his own fingers it was. 

It didn't feel anything like Rick's fingers either, but _fuck_ , what if Rick did something like this to him? 

Made him strip, bent him over the bed, told him this was what he got for breaking the rules. Just imagining that, he pushed the handle in further and pressed down, stretching himself wider. _This is all you get 'til I tell you different._

His untouched cock dribbled precum onto his belly. And he hadn't even reached that little spot inside that Rick had taught him about. He worked the tool around inside him, seeing if he could find it with this thing. 

He thought of getting up on all fours, pressing his face into the pillow, spreading his thighs wide enough to burn, imagining Rick was right behind him -

It hit him then, how pathetic this was. The fuck was wrong with him, going through all this trouble just to come, thinking about Rick like this when he could've lost him today, when Carl could've lost his father? 

He pulled the tool out of his ass and worked his bare leg back into his pants. Sat up and grabbed the rag he'd used on it before to wipe it off, eliminating any trace of this nasty experiment. 

He heard faint footfalls on the walkway leading up to his cell and his heart jumped. 

He knew it was Rick right before his shadow darkened the doorway. When the hell had he learned to walk that quiet?

He wasn't ready for this. He laid down, considered feigning sleep before realizing the light he'd left on made it impossible at this point. Then Rick was right there and Daryl remembered the jar of moonshine still sitting on the floor right out in the open. Anger shot through him for even worrying about it. It made him feel weak, letting Rick get to him like this when he'd gone his whole life trying not to give a fuck what other people thought.

Rick stepped inside without a word, coming to stand at the foot of the bed. It was the first time Rick had actually entered his cell all the way, not just talking from the doorway. The small space suddenly felt even more claustrophobic. 

Rick stared down at him, resting a hand on the top bunk. Laying on his back looking up at Rick, Daryl felt like a dog with his belly exposed. His dick twitched and that only made his temper flare up worse.

He forced himself into a sitting position, pulling his knees up in front of him. The slickness around his hole felt disgusting. "S'up?" he snapped, when Rick just _stood_ there. 

Rick took a step forward, closer to the light from Daryl's little lantern, and Daryl noticed for the first time how disheveled Rick looked. He was barefoot. His face was sweaty; damp curls clinging to his forehead. His eyes were glittering dangerously.

Jesus. Was his wound infected? Was he delirious? "You alright?" 

Rick didn't even seem to register the question. His hand was gripping the edge of the top bedframe now, too tightly. "Why didn't you take a walkie?" he demanded. His voice was low and rough, but it wasn't his sex-voice. There was something desperate in it that made Daryl's stomach flip. 

Daryl's mind went blank. He couldn't explain that he'd been so rattled seeing him sleeping with Lori's shirt that he'd ran off without thinking. "Forgot," he muttered, because he couldn't just sit there staring back at Rick like an idiot. 

"You _forgot_?" Rick practically ground the words out.

Daryl cringed inside as he realized how that sounded, like he didn't give a shit. It made him want to say sorry, but what wound up coming out instead was, "S'what I said, ain't it?" Because what the hell else could he tell him? 

_Fuck_ , this wasn't how this was supposed to go. He hadn't expected Rick to come up here looking all upset. He hated seeing him like this, especially knowing it was his fault somehow. But no words came and he found himself glaring mutely at Rick in frustration. Rick's eyes never left his, and even though Daryl felt like his mind was being ripped open and read like a book, he couldn't look away.

"You didn't forget," Rick said. The words came out too quiet, too deliberate for how wild eyed he still looked, like he was on the verge of something violent and trying to contain it.

Daryl's heart started to pound. If Rick needed to unleash on someone, he was ready. Fuck, he _wanted_ it. Deserved it. He knew their people were right below, knew how sound echoed in here like a motherfucker, but like a reflex he couldn't control, Daryl shoved off the bed to face him square on. "You callin' me a liar?"

Rick didn't even flinch. "Get undressed," he said. Quiet. Deadly.

This wasn't like before. _This_ didn't feel at all like a game. 

This was the Rick who knew what to do, could take exactly what he wanted. Daryl couldn't risk fucking this up, not when he was already on such thin ice. Pulse throbbing in his ears, Daryl kicked off his shoes, tore out of his t-shirt. 

He was halfway out of his jeans when he was suddenly reminded of how slick he still was back there. And froze.

Rick was gonna find out. He was gonna know he'd played with his ass, like some desperate fag whore. Seconds were passing and Rick's eyes were boring into him, making his skin burn. He was too sober for this; even the last time he'd had just enough to dull the shame.

Part of him was saying he shouldn't hide it from Rick, that Rick should know exactly how filthy and wrong he was. But his limbs felt like lead weights. 

Rick was too close all of a sudden, fingers tangling in the back of Daryl's hair, forcing his face up. Daryl hadn't even realized he'd bowed his head, too humiliated to keep Rick's gaze after he'd just started stripping on command. 

A flash of rage drowned out thought; before he knew it, he'd shoved Rick off him, hard. 

_Too_ hard -Rick stumbled back and hit the bars of the cell gate. The clanging metal echoing in the cellblock sounded like the loudest noise Daryl had ever heard, and he watched in horror as Rick's face contorted with pain. 

Fuck, _fuck_ , Rick was hurt, and here he was lashing out at him like some dumb animal who couldn't control himself!

It felt like time had stopped as he watched Rick slowly straightening himself, lips pressed tight with either pain or anger -Daryl couldn't tell which. He waited for Rick to meet his gaze again, to lunge forward and grab him, lay down the law, _something._ Daryl was wound so tight something needed to happen or he'd explode. He was shaking with the effort of holding still, fingernails digging crescents into his palms.

Rick eyes were cast off to the side, face tight, closing off in a way Daryl hadn't seen since Lori. Since Shane. "Alright," he said quietly, with a sharp little nod, like he was confirming something to himself. "Alright." 

Before Daryl could make another move, Rick turned away, head down, shoulders hunched, and left Daryl alone in the cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was an annoying place to end this chapter, but I had to because the next chapter is even longer than this one and it just felt off to me to combine them. It shouldn't take too long for me to post that one, though. Most likely be up by the mid-season premiere (which I am dreading...)


	16. Chapter 16

Daryl stared numbly at the empty space where Rick had just stood.

He couldn't have fucked this up worse if he'd tried. He listened to Rick's footsteps heading back downstairs and had to fight the urge to rush after him. He'd never done that, not even when Merle would leave him behind when he was a kid. He wouldn't push himself on someone who was clearly done with him.

He clawed at his scalp, pacing restlessly in the tight space of the cell. His chest was too tight, tears were leaking out of his eyes, throat aching from the effort to swallow them. 

His control was slipping again. Any second, he was gonna blow up and punch a wall or break something. 

Rick had wanted something from him. All he'd had to do was listen, do what Rick told him to, and all the distress on Rick's face would've been gone and he could've been the one to do it, to make Rick okay, even if it was just for a little while. Instead, he'd fucking _hurt_ him, just because he'd been doing something disgusting and was about to get caught.

He stalked out onto the walkway outside his cell, seething with frustration. Looking down over the railing, he could barely see anything with the lights all out. Rick must be back in bed now, or at least in his cell, and maybe he'd be crying himself to sleep again for all Daryl knew, missing Lori, worrying about his kids -

A shadowy figure moved in the darkness below and after a second Daryl realized it was Rick.

He tracked Rick's movements, caught between hope and panic because it seemed like he was heading towards the stairs again, and Rick coming back could be good or awful, and fuck, _fuck_ , he wasn't ready for this, not by a long shot. 

But then Rick abruptly changed course, making a beeline for the cellblock exit instead, like he'd just forcefully changed his mind. His footfalls were so silent it seemed surreal, until it occurred to Daryl that he was probably still barefoot. 

Rick was injured, exhausted, and this was all his fault. He couldn't leave him to stumble around the dark prison or out in the yard without shoes on. Hell, nowadays tetanus could be a death sentence as easy as a walker bite.

He stepped into his shoes and hurried down the stairs, careful to keep his steps light to not wake anyone else.

Rick had picked up speed as he'd exited the cellblock. For a couple of seconds Daryl couldn't locate him in the dark but then he heard the heavy door to the stairwell creak open and rushed to catch up.

Rick wasn't heading outside -he was going down into the lower levels.

He might be going to the machine room where Lori had died. He'd done that a few times after she'd passed and for a second, Daryl hesitated. If Rick needed to be alone down there, who the hell was he to trouble him? He knew better than anyone what it was like to need time alone to get his shit together.

Except Rick was hurt. There couldn't be a better excuse than that. He _had_ to check on him.

He hurried down the remaining steps and caught sight of Rick moving down the hallway. Rick had turned on the lights down here, a waste of precious power but at least it meant he wasn't completely out of it. Near the generator room, Rick abruptly stopped.

His back was to Daryl, hunched slightly, arms crossed around his front. He didn't turn around as Daryl slowly approached, and Daryl wondered if he knew it was him and wasn't alarmed, or if he was too lost in his own head to even notice he'd been followed.

"Rick. You alright?" he ventured cautiously, when he was only a few feet away.

Rick's head dipped down, and Daryl couldn't see but he knew he was resting his forehead in one hand the way he did sometimes when he was worn out or irritated.

"Go back to bed," Rick said. His voice had a bite to it that made the hairs on Daryl's neck stand up, like there was an _or else_ attached to it.

Well that sure as hell wouldn't turn him away. "Ain't tired."

Rick spun on him then, and Daryl couldn't help but fall back a step. Rick's eyes were wet, something unhinged in them that reminded Daryl of when he'd stormed into the Tombs after Lori's death, hell bent on destroying every last walker down there single-handedly.

"Do you think I have any idea what I'm supposed to do here?" Rick exploded. "Do you think I have some sorta playbook for this? I've been with one woman. _One!_ "

Rick turned away, turned back, ran a hand frustratedly through his sweat-damp hair. "I'm supposed to be fixing things with my boy! Keeping my head on straight, tryin' to let you all run this place so I don't screw things up again! I can't do this..this... _whatever_ this is with you, no matter how much I want to. I've made too many mistakes already."

Daryl felt like his heart had stopped. Like it'd turned into a brick of ice in the middle of his chest. 

It wasn't Rick's injury that had him down here coming unglued.

A mistake. He'd finally said it, it was a mistake...

It took a couple of seconds for Daryl to register the rest.

_No matter how much I want to._

He didn't realize he'd been gaping at Rick long enough for him to lose patience until Rick was moving past him with an exasperated huff, back towards the upstairs and away from him.

Rick was leaving. Rick was leaving and if he let him go again this might be it, the end of what they'd started, and Daryl knew he'd never have the nerve to try again if Rick shut him down. Dammit he'd _known_ this would happen, and he should've been ready for it, should've just let Rick go like he'd promised himself he would, but this wasn't fair, not when he'd been so close, when Rick had just said he _wanted to!_

"Rick!" he burst out, clutching at Rick's retreating shoulder before it was too late.

Rick jerked and turned, so sharply Daryl thought for a split second he was gonna punch him. He didn't flinch away, ready to take whatever was coming. Rick's breathing was hard and heavy, and Daryl could see the tension running all through his body; he was practically vibrating with it. But all Rick did was fix his eyes on him, wordlessly demanding an answer.

Daryl froze. All he knew was his pounding heart and Rick's laser-sharp gaze, and the feeling that everything was riding on what he said next.

Meanwhile, his mind was utterly blank, like he'd forgotten English altogether. Any moment now Rick's patience would run out again and he'd pull away and leave, and Daryl still couldn't find the words to explain why the hell he'd stopped him.

Daryl's fingers started working at unbuckling his belt. He didn't know what he was doing; it was like his body had a mind of its own. He had a vague thought to strip down like Rick had told him to upstairs, to show Rick he hadn't been having second thoughts, despite the fact that he'd shoved him away.

All he was thinking of was Rick. Rick, injured because of him. Confused and guilty, because of him. His belt slithered through the loops with that _sound_ , arousing and sickening at the same time.

Too late, he realized what he'd done and stood there frozen, the strap dangling from his nerveless fingers, wishing he could reel back time, because Rick's eyes were narrowed in confusion when Daryl dared to glance up, and there just wasn't any way to explain himself.

Fuck it. He didn't have a right to any pride, with his ass all lubed up like a prison slut. He couldn't back out now anyway, when he was already on such thin ice.

He folded the strap over once and held it out to Rick, his heartbeat in his throat, eyes falling to somewhere around Rick's feet because no way could he bring himself to see how Rick was taking this.

He hoped Rick would realize it meant he could do anything he wanted. That with him at least, Rick couldn't make any mistakes.

Silence, and the belt left in Daryl's hand until he thought he'd fucking die from shame.

"What are you doing?" Rick said. His voice was soft, shaken, and Daryl couldn't blame him for sounding incredulous when he could hardly believe what he was doing, either.

"I hurt you. Hurt me back." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

More silence. That dark rage started swelling in Daryl's chest again. He couldn't face Rick rejecting him, not after something this humiliating. He was suffocating; he couldn't take it. He jerked the hand holding the belt back. That was it, he was done, done with Rick, done with all of this, he'd leave, he'd take off right now and go -

In one swift motion, Rick tore the belt from Daryl's grasp and flung it violently to the ground. Daryl's eyes snapped up to Rick's, startled, confused.

Rick's face was a storm of emotion but before Daryl could read anything in it, his back was crashing against the door, and Rick's lips were on his, bruising and rough. His hands clutched Daryl's shoulders in a death grip, tongue forcing its way into his mouth like he was fucking it. Daryl's legs would've given out from the rush of sheer relief if Rick hadn't propped him up with one thigh shoved up between his legs, pinning his cock with an almost painful pressure.

Then Rick's lips were gone, and instead his hands were sliding up under Daryl's t-shirt, palms hot and rough on Daryl's bare skin, skidding over his belly, over his chest, bunching the fabric of the shirt until it was up around his neck. "Off," he practically growled, and Daryl's arms went up like they'd been pulled by strings, letting Rick yank the thin cotton off his body without resistance.

Rick pressed him back to the wall, one arm wrapping around his waist, his other hand tightly gripping the back of his neck, holding him immobile as he devoured his lips and tongue like a starving man. Daryl could feel his mouth bruising; that, and the rough drag of Rick's shirt over his nipples went straight to his cock. Rick's swelling erection was jutting into his own now; he was already throbbing at how Rick was just _taking_. 

Rick caught his bottom lip between his teeth for a second before they broke apart again, and Daryl let out a small, needy sound that made Rick groan low in his throat and start kissing him again, one hand fumbling at Daryl's fly. 

The door gave way behind him and Rick was pushing him through it, all the way inside. Daryl rushed to help with the button on his jeans only to have his hands slapped away.

"Get on the floor," Rick ordered, flicking on the light, grabbing up Daryl's discarded shirt and belt and tossing them into the room, letting the heavy door close them inside.

Daryl couldn't obey fast enough. He dropped to his knees, staring at the thick ridge of Rick's hard cock trapped inside his tight black jeans. Adrenaline already had his heart racing; he didn't know what Rick would do, but Daryl would do anything, take anything -

"On your back," Rick breathed, coming to kneel down beside him. Daryl scrambled to comply, his bare back colliding with the rough concrete. He went to finish undoing his fly -Rick wanted them off, he'd take them off. Show Rick just how ready he was -

"No!" Rick snapped.

Daryl flinched, hands dropping to his sides. He'd never heard Rick sound like that. Like Daryl was a misbehaving dog. His gut twinged with arousal. _Fuck_ he was so sick.

If he didn't want his pants off, maybe Rick was gonna fuck his mouth. He was nearly drooling at the thought.

But no, that wasn't it either, because the next thing, Rick was tearing Daryl's jeans down his legs, taking his boxers along with them, shoving his shoes off as well, like he'd just wanted to strip him with his own hands. 

Daryl was fully naked now, staring up at Rick as he straddled his thighs and loomed over him.

"Hands over your head," Rick murmured. Daryl obeyed instantly, and Rick responded by bearing down on him, hands closing around each of Daryl's wrists to lock them down as he started kissing him again. It was different this time, slower, deeper, and Daryl hoped his memory would record every single thing about how it felt to be pinned like this, Rick's tongue in his mouth, Rick's weight on top of him, Rick's scent, familiar and craved, filling his nostrils.

Rick's breath hitched a little before he pulled away again and told Daryl in a gravelly whisper not to move. Then he leaned up off him, put his hands on his thighs and spread them apart.

Daryl closed his eyes, his face and neck flushing red hot. It was too damn bright under the fluorescent bulbs for him to be spread out this -like a woman would be laid out, only he was all rough-skinned, dirty and scarred up, big, hard cock flopping obscenely against his belly. Nothing like what Rick was used to seeing in this position, and what if the comparison woke Rick up and made him realize his mistake?

But Rick hadn't yet, because he was pulling Daryl's jaw open and thrusting three fingers into the slack cavity like when they were in the woods - _get 'em wet for me_ -and Daryl was salivating all over them even as he started panicking inside that any second now Rick was gonna know, gonna find out he'd already slicked himself up for his own sick needs. He wanted the handcuffs so bad now, or the belt to tie his hands. Anything, to keep him from feeling like he needed to bolt.

His hands were clenched into fists over his head, eyes shut just as tight, as Rick withdrew his fingers. It felt like an eternity passed until he felt Rick's fingertip against his hole.

Rick let out a low, rumbling chuckle when his finger slid inside with little resistance. "Is that why you pushed me away? Didn't want me to find out what you'd been up to?"

Daryl couldn't even open his eyes, let alone respond. He'd rather Rick had been angry -for fuck's sake it wasn't funny, that he was that gross!

"I told you," Rick said, soothing and gentle, finger pressing in further. "You don't need to hide anything from me."

And God, that _voice_ -tears sprang into Daryl's eyes, stinging behind his squeezed-tight eyelids. Dammit, why was that making him lose his shit? "Stop!" he blurted, voice cracking shamefully. 

Rick's finger slid out immediately. "Ok," he said. He sounded the same as before he'd left Daryl alone in his cell. 

Daryl's eyes flew open. Rick looked hurt and confused as he shifted to a crouch, went to rock back onto his heels, to stand up.

No, no, he hadn't meant stop _everything!_

"Don't - _Rick!_ -" Daryl sat up, clutching at Rick's forearm to keep him there. "M'sorry," he croaked out. He was close to crying for real now. He couldn't help it, the frustration was too much. No matter how hard he tried, all he did was fuck things up. He fought to keep his face from scrunching up, forced a sob back down his throat.

"You don't have to be sorry," Rick insisted, his eyes all earnest and worried, and that made it worse. Maybe Rick had been about to fuck him finally, take his own pleasure first, finally, and he'd fucking ruined it, _again_ -

"Didn't do none a' the shit you said," Daryl burst out, sucking the tears out of his voice.

Rick's arm tensed up under his palm, the muscles so tight they were trembling. He was still here though. Waiting.

Daryl made himself keep talking. Anything to buy time, keep Rick from leaving. "Left without a walkie. Hit that moonshine soon as I got upstairs..." It wasn't enough. He had to keep going now. "Put a fuckin' _screwdriver_ up there..lubed the handle up and..." He slid his hand off of Rick's arm as he felt the tension in it ease, curled both arms around his drawn up knees. " _That's_ how messed up I am." 

Rick stayed crouched down beside him, bowing his head and going still. He was thinking, processing; Daryl could tell. The waiting was torture but that's what he fucking got for screwing Rick's head up like this.

"You fucked up," Rick said, slowly, quietly. "And you need to pay for it." He sounded sure of himself again, like he'd finally come to a conclusion.

Daryl looked up. The worry was gone from Rick's face. Instead, he was looking at him with the kind of determination that strangely reminded Daryl of how he'd look at him before they'd go off to do battle together.

Daryl's breath caught in his throat.

"Turn over," Rick said. "On your hands and knees." It sounded the same as when he'd say, Daryl, you take point. Or Daryl, get the gate. The kind of order he’d normally obey unthinkingly.

Rick stood up, watching him intently, head tilted like he was daring him to back out or fight or fuck this up some other way. 

He wouldn't. Not again. He got on all fours and just being in that position made arousal start pooling in his belly, made his balls draw up so tight it almost hurt. In his periphery, he saw Rick reach down and pick up his belt, folding it over once, neatly, just the way Daryl had tried to hand it to him.

Jesus, was Rick really gonna -

Blood surged into Daryl's cock. His body had never cared how sick he was.

The way Rick was studying it in his hands, like it was a new tool he needed to learn how to use, made Daryl want it so bad his dick started to throb.

"I've never done this before," Rick murmured, almost more to himself. He stepped behind Daryl, out of his sight. "And you're gonna stop me if it's too much -"

"It won't be," Daryl breathed, cutting him off. _Please don't talk, just do it, make me fucking pay, like you said_ \--

"I _said_ -" Rick bit out, "you're gonna stop me if it's too much. Or before we do _anything_ again, you'll have to tell me -out loud -exactly what you want. Are we clear?"

"Yeah," Daryl whispered. He hung his head between his shoulderblades, waiting. 

A mess of unwanted thoughts started swirling through his head -that he knew just how this would feel against his flesh, the bright hot sting, the burning ache afterwards, the welts and the bruising, the way it'd chafe under his clothing; that he was sick to want this when he'd been hurt for real when he'd been too weak to do a thing about it; that Rick could never respect a man who'd want something like this, that he'd never really _want_ him again -

The first blow was hard enough to knock his mind empty with no effort at all, a wide strip of searing heat across the fleshy part of his ass.

The second made him gasp, more from surprise than anything else. God, Rick wasn't holding back,he was laying into him just like he deserved -

A third stroke came, just as brutal, but Daryl was ready and managed to stay perfectly silent and still, afraid of making Rick stop, or worse -asking if he was ok.

Rick hesitated after that one, and for endless seconds, Daryl's mind started providing the reasons why: Rick was sickened, he was regretting all of it, he was realizing he didn't want this after all, he was looking for a way to back out -

When a fourth stroke finally came it was the biggest relief in the world and Daryl couldn't even care how fucked up that was.

Another came. Then another. And another.

Rick was whipping him for real now. The belt landed again and again, hard, relentless. But there was a rhythm to it, controlled and methodical and safe –Jesus, Rick was being _careful._ So careful that the strap never landed on his balls or licked around to the front of him to cut into his dick. Never sliced haphazardly across his back or sides -that would've been all wrong, would've been too much like _back then_ , and Daryl was only realizing now in hindsight how that could've been a deal-breaker, made him limp-dicked and too disgusted with himself to go on.

Then it hurt bad enough that he couldn't think at all, had to fight not to make any sound. It felt like streaks of fire tearing across his backside. He wasn't even hard anymore, but it didn't matter.

He started feeling lightheaded, like he was drunk or high, and it felt so right not knowing when it would end, that _Rick_ would decide how much was enough, how much he deserved. He wouldn't tell Rick to stop, not even if it left his ass so raw he'd feel it for days.

Maybe Rick would like that, if he was still feeling it next time he got on his bike or sat with him at the table. Maybe Rick wanted to leave him a reminder so even when they weren't together, Daryl wouldn't forget that this was something Rick could do to him now if he fucked up, or hell, if he just _wanted_ to -

He didn’t want it to end, this feeling of being nothing but what Rick wanted from him. Rick would never make him be anything bad or sick, he'd make him _good_ and he'd only ever be good from now on, he'd be so good for Rick, _so good_ , so good that Rick would never want to be done with him -

He slipped up and the tiniest wince escaped him, and the next stroke didn't come.

Daryl heard the belt buckle clatter to the floor, and his first thought was _no, no, don't stop-_

He could take more, so much more than that, Rick had no _idea_ -

He didn't realize he'd said anything out loud until he felt himself being rolled onto his back, heard Rick saying, "You've had enough, don't tell me otherwise," as he cupped the back of his head to keep it from bouncing off the concrete floor. Rick's voice was hoarse and thick; his pupils were dilated so much they nearly swallowed up the blue.

Dazed, he watched Rick kneel up and start undoing the buttons of his shirt, clumsy and hurried, like he couldn't be rid of it fast enough. Then Rick was down on top of him again, kissing him with that same urgency as before, like he couldn't get enough of Daryl's mouth or enough of Daryl's skin against him at once. 

Daryl had never felt anything like this his whole life, another body skin-to-skin against him, _Rick's_ perfect body, warm and wanting, like he wasn't something gross or degenerate after all. 

He spread his legs under Rick's to let him find more friction. Rick was still kissing him, breathing growing heavier, cock growing harder. The zipper of Rick's jeans was punishing against his dick, the concrete grating against his sore ass, but it made it better, like Rick was still making him pay, making him earn it.

Then out of the blue, Rick leaned up off of him and got to his feet.

Before Daryl could process what was happening, Rick was back with the little jar of vaseline from the table they'd used last time, shucking off his jeans and boxers and kneeling between Daryl's legs, naked himself now.

Daryl drank in the sight of Rick totally bared to him for the first time. He was even more beautiful than he'd imagined, everything toned and tight, muscles that didn't need to be bulked up for show to be deadly effective. It wasn't like the hidden peeks he'd dared when the fear of being caught was utmost in his mind. He was finally allowed, and he took advantage and just _stared._

Rick had his cock in his hand, coating it slowly and thoroughly, taking special care to apply more to the head. Daryl couldn't tear his eyes away, like if he did this would all disappear. That, and the sight of Rick stroking his rock-hard dick while he looked down at him with such obvious want was mesmerizing.

He was expecting -hoping -Rick was gonna flip him over, but instead Rick put his hands behind Daryl's knees to spread his legs wider. 

"I know," Rick said, almost grinning. "You were thinkin' about it the other way. But I wanna see your face the first time I'm inside you." 

The gentle tone didn't even rattle Daryl this time because Rick had just said _inside you_ and it was really gonna happen, and that had to mean something now that Daryl knew for sure that it'd only been Lori before this.

He felt Rick's cock at his entrance but his hole was all tightened up now, from nerves or who knows what. This was it, Rick was finally gonna do it, and his fucking ass wouldn't cooperate! 

He wished Rick could just force himself inside, make him open up and take it all, and the realization that he wouldn't, that he'd never do anything that could do any real damage to him, just reminded him how goddamn good Rick was, way too good for _him_. And now that Rick’s cock was all covered in lube, he wouldn't even be able to suck him off.

"Give me your hand," Rick said, yanking him out of the downward spiral his mind had started on.

Daryl blinked up at him, confused.

Rick sat back and picked up the jar of vaseline. "Give me your hand," he said again.

Daryl held out his right hand, stomach flipping as he guessed what Rick might have in mind. Because right now he knew he'd do it. He'd let Rick do anything. Fucking _anything_.

Rick scooped out a good amount and rubbed it over Daryl's first three fingers. "Get yourself ready for me."

Daryl closed his eyes; he couldn't take it otherwise. Slowly, like his arm was moving through molasses, his fingers went to his hole.

Rick's shuddery exhale encouraged him. He slipped one finger in and worked it around, trying not to picture how this looked, willing himself to open up further. 

It didn't work.

Rick's hand closed over his, warm and steady, trapping his finger inside himself. It made Daryl's cock jump against his stomach, made his hole unclench a little at the same time. "You're gonna keep going til you can let me in,” Rick told him. “I don't care if it takes all night." 

He removed his hand from Daryl's. "Try another one. _Slow_. You go too fast, you're not allowed to come. Even if I fuck you."

Just those words out of Rick's mouth was enough to make his hole loosen up around his finger. He took advantage and pressed another one in beside it. Part of him hoped it was too fast; he didn't care if he got to come or not, so long as Rick fucked him, even if his entire groin was already starting to ache with need. He wanted that ache; better he didn't come if it would make it go away.

He sank a third finger in and spread all three apart, with force. It stung like a motherfucker, and that brought a surge of blood into his dick and let him open up even further.

"What did I say?" Rick chided, covering Daryl's hand with his own again. Daryl's face flamed red-hot as the reality of Rick holding him in place with his own three fingers up his ass sank in. Slowly, then, Rick began to push against Daryl's hand, making him fuck himself with those fingers. Daryl's cock started to drool.

Rick hummed in his throat, a low, satisfied sound, as if he'd liked that sight so much he couldn't help but make that sound. "That's good..." he said, "...real good, Daryl." His voice was breathy, almost reverent, and Daryl didn't know what to do with that other than to let out a grateful whimper.

That seemed to spur Rick on. He pulled Daryl's hand off himself and climbed over top of him, spreading Daryl's legs wide again but lifting them up this time, bending him nearly double. "Hold them like that," he said, and Daryl grabbed his legs behind the knees, the position not that uncomfortable but thoroughly humiliating, and it felt so fucking right to stay this way, holding himself open for Rick to use.

He watched Rick line himself up, felt the warm, smooth head of Rick's cock breach him for the first time. Rick's eyes came up to meet Daryl's, holding his gaze like it was easy, the way he always did, and said, "Put your arms around me."

Daryl let go of his legs, keeping them splayed apart and bent up enough to keep Rick inside, and wrapped his arms around Rick. He hid his face in Rick's neck, breathing him in like a drug as he slowly, slowly began to inch his way inside. It felt like some fever dream, like this couldn't possibly be real, Rick inside him, Rick –former cop, father of two, only-been-with-one-woman Rick -filling him up until he felt ready to burst. Rick wasn't even being rough, but it didn't matter, not one bit, because he didn't need to come, he just needed to feel Rick lose it inside him.

Once Rick was in all the way, though, something changed. Daryl felt it, the way Rick shuddered then went still, the way his breathing became erratic, and not in a heavy-breathing, about-to-come kind of way.

Rick picked his head up to meet Daryl's eyes and there was too much emotion in them, too much for Daryl to keep his gaze without starting to tear up again. He'd never been this close to another person his whole damn life and it made him feel like he was turned inside out, every nerve laid out and exposed, and he didn't like it, even if it was Rick.

It was scary in a way nothing else ever had been, and maybe Rick was feeling something like it too, because he was going soft inside him all of a sudden, even as he moved in to kiss Daryl again, unmistakably tender this time but something pleading and sad in it as well.

No. _NO._ Not like this. Daryl knew what was wrong, he knew Rick, he knew what this was. He'd done it with Lori like this, and it was the same as if Rick had whipped him on his back or chest, or used the wrong words and brought his mind somewhere other than right here and now where it belonged. 

Taking a gamble, he bit Rick's bottom lip, hard enough to make him wince and draw back, glared up at him with his best _fuck you_ eyes, narrowed and hard and unapologetic.

Rick's eyes flashed back at him and next thing he knew, his ass was empty and he was being flipped over, back onto his hands and knees with that careless strength that it was always easy to forget Rick possessed. Rick's hands were spreading his cheeks apart, kneading at the welts he’d left on his ass, fully exposing his shamefully slicked-up hole. 

It was so excruciatingly embarrassing that for a couple of seconds, Daryl regretted goading Rick the way he had. But then he felt the tip of Rick's cock graze his entrance and there was nothing in him left but _do it, do it, please, Rick_ -

Like he'd read his mind, Rick gripped Daryl's hips and unceremoniously plunged his cock back inside him, not all the way but hard enough that Daryl pitched forward onto his elbows. "Is this how you thought about it when you used that screwdriver?" Rick demanded, and it felt like a victory, hearing that ruthless confidence back in Rick's voice.

"Yeah," Daryl breathed, no hesitation at all.

"Next time I'm gonna watch you do it," Rick said, hoarse and gritty, starting to fuck him with short, hard thrusts that kept him mostly halfway in, in a way that was just shy of that magic spot. "Have you show me how you played with what I told you not to."

"Mmhm," Daryl whimpered in agreement. God, he'd never have any shame with Rick again. Anything Rick wanted, he could have, any time, any place -

"I won't let you come, though," Rick continued. "Not for a good, long while. You broke the rules. I told you, you don't get to do that on your own anymore!" He sounded more and more breathless as his hips started pumping harder.

He had to let Rick know. For some reason, Daryl needed him to. "...couldn't come," he choked out. "Didn't even wanna...won't, ever again -"

Rick folded over Daryl's back with a groan, cock hardening to solid steel. "You won't," he rasped, driving all the way in with one smooth, powerful thrust. "Only with me. Only when I say so."

 _"Only when you say,"_ Daryl chanted back, breathless, because it felt good to say that to Rick right now, felt so good he thought he might come.

But what he really wanted - _needed_ -was to make Rick come. Milk it right out of him, make him lose his damn mind, come so good and hard he'd never stop wanting this. He pushed back onto Rick's cock, pulled off halfway and slammed backwards again.

He was dimly aware that it hurt but he was in that place where pain wasn't really pain anymore, so he did it again, again, again, not giving Rick a chance to stop him.

And maybe Rick wouldn't have anyway, because he was thrusting into Daryl just as fast and rough now, rhythm all sloppy and disjointed, breath coming in choppy pants until finally Daryl heard, "Wait -I'm gonna -"

Rick's whole body tightened up around him, like he might be trying to hold back, but Daryl didn't want that, not when he was this close to giving Rick the release he deserved. He grit his teeth and clenched up hard enough to grip Rick's cock like a vice and that was it.

Rick seized up and collapsed onto Daryl's back, a loud, animal groan bursting out of him like he hadn't expected it, like Daryl had made it feel so good he couldn't help it. Rick's cock was pulsing inside him, his hips jerking in short, erratic thrusts as he spent himself, arms winding around Daryl's chest, holding him so tight it nearly squeezed the air from his lungs.

This was where he belonged, full of Rick's come, hearing Rick's soft, blissful moans in his ear as his orgasm started winding down. Rick knew how hard he could take it now, knew he could sate himself whenever he wanted. 

He'd finally shown Rick how he could use him. 

Just the thought of being available to Rick like this, all day, every day, brought Daryl right to the edge again. He had no idea how -he wasn't even fully hard, his dick hadn't had any friction -but all it took was Rick thrusting into him one last time and he was spurting come and whimpering like a porn star, wave after wave of near-ecstasy crashing over him. Before Rick, he'd never imagined coming could ever feel like this.

It was close to torturous this time; he couldn't control his spasms, his too-loud moans. Rick tried to get a hand on his dick but it was so oversensitive he jerked away involuntarily. 

So Rick wrapped his arms around Daryl instead and rolled them both onto their sides, and then Rick was holding him, chest pressed against Daryl's back, arms only lightly curled around his chest so that Daryl could writhe against him freely, while he murmured lowly in his ear, "It's ok, no one else can hear you, be loud for me, that's it, that's it, good boy," and something about _good boy_ shook something loose in him.

Good boy, like that cop from so many years ago. Like Rick thought so too, even with come leaking out of his ass, lying naked on a concrete prison floor. He could still be good, even now. Rick's good boy -

"Hey, hey, easy," he heard Rick saying, and Daryl felt wetness on his face and realized he'd started crying, that he was shuddering with quiet sobs he'd missed the chance to contain. Rick wasn't pushing him away or trying to make him stop, either. He was just holding on to him, tighter now, pressing his face into the back of his neck. 

Daryl came back to himself with a start -fuck, Rick might think he'd hurt him or something! Rick wouldn't know crying from that kind of pain had been burned out of him ages ago. He didn't even know why the hell he was bawling like this, but the last thing he wanted was for Rick to think he'd done anything wrong! 

He took a few sharp, deep breaths and shut off the tears. Sucked in hard through his nose so he wouldn't be dribbling snot like some fucking kid, and resolved to sit up, to break free of Rick's arms and tell him -tell him -

Words were too risky. He'd ruin it, say the wrong shit, or say too much, or not enough. 

He felt Rick tensing up behind him, probably sensing him about to move, surely already confused as hell at his goddamn crying, and who could blame him? 

All of Daryl's instincts were telling him to pull away, make sure Rick wasn't the one to let go first, not look so damn pathetic. But Rick had just _fucked_ him, the first person he'd fucked since Lori -the _only_ person he'd fucked, other than Lori. 

It was Rick who should decide when they were done. 

He forced himself to stay put. 

The second he settled back and went still he felt Rick's body relax, and knew for once he'd done the right thing.

Soon enough, his own muscles were going lax. He couldn't muster up the will to resist how comfortable it was -Rick spooned up behind him naked, rocking them both gently, nuzzling the back of Daryl's neck. He could fall asleep like this, he could stay like this all night, god, it felt so good -

His cooling body was startled by the cold concrete, suddenly. Rick twitched a little behind him, like he'd been on the verge of drifting off as well. Like he, too, just remembered that they didn't have all night. 

As Rick's arms slid off of him, Daryl pushed himself up, drawing up his knees. He felt drained and sluggish, still a little fuzzy-headed. He was desperate to know if it was as good for Rick as it’d sounded, but he'd never ask a question like that. 

Rick sat up and draped his arms loosely around his knees, mirroring Daryl's posture. He looked over at Daryl intently, the way he did when he was trying to figure where his head was at.

Before Rick had a chance to even think about addressing him being so damn weepy, Daryl gave a rueful snort and said, "Didn't mean to act like such a bitch," hoping that would be enough to deflect it altogether.

"Hey," Rick said, dipping his head to catch Daryl's eyes as they drifted downward. "Don't apologize for anything you do down here.

Daryl dropped his eyes anyway. He should've known Rick would say something like that. He wanted to squirm out of his skin, having Rick's concern turned towards him again, when all he'd wanted was to give Rick some relief, some pleasure he didn't need to worry about.

It was dead quiet, just the sounds of their breathing. Rick was eyeing the ground between his knees. Daryl watched him, trying to puzzle out what was on Rick's mind. He looked lost in thought, but not in a regretful way. Then his expression changed, just slightly. Like something had resolved.

"And don't call yourself that," Rick said.

Daryl automatically huffed in disdain. Rick didn't need to patronize him. He knew what he was. "If the shoe fits," he muttered, shrugging.

Rick blew out a heavy sigh. "I'll make it a rule, then. I don't want to hear it again." 

Daryl's eyes shot up to meet Rick's. They were stern, like he wasn't kidding.

It made Daryl's throat go tight, made him heave himself to his feet abruptly. It was too much for him, now that the strange buzz he'd been feeling was dissipating.

He yanked his jeans on, covering up his bruised backside in a hurry. He got his belt back on too, face growing hot as he felt Rick's eyes on him.

Rick, meanwhile, hadn't moved an inch of his naked ass off the floor yet. He looked up at Daryl again, as Daryl finished pulling his shirt over his head. "We're gonna keep doing this," he said.

Like he was just stating a fact. Like there wasn't any doubt about it.

"And not just...this," Rick added quickly. "We can...do other stuff, too."

Daryl's heart felt too big for his chest all of a sudden. He didn't know what to say to that; didn't trust his voice not to crack anyway, and figured Rick probably had enough of him acting like a little pussy, despite what he'd said. He ducked his head, mumbled a quick "mmhm, " and hoped that would be enough for Rick to understand.

Daryl had no idea what other stuff Rick was referring to, but he'd understood the important thing.

There would be other times, alone with Rick, beyond tonight. Maybe even beyond this week, or this month, if he didn't fuck it up, if nothing else threw a monkey wrench into the situation.

It was enough for now; he wouldn't let himself hope for more -didn’t really know what “more” to hope for in the first place. He just knew being greedy had never paid off for him.

Rick studied him some more, staying quiet, leaving Daryl room to talk if he needed. 

Daryl didn't know what to say that would be worth saying. More likely than not, he'd jinx it. And he was already remembering Little Asskicker sleeping alone in her crib, unattended. Trying to keep Rick down here longer would be stupid.

"Alright," Rick said, after a few beats. He sounded a little disappointed. He leaned back to examine his wound under the bandage, without much concern. Sighed and started pulling his shirt back on. Got to his feet so he could step back into his jeans. His movements were unhurried, almost lazy. "Guess we should get back upstairs," he said.

Daryl stood there, savoring the last precious glimpses of Rick's nakedness, and it hit him, how much Rick really didn't want to leave yet. He looked like a man who'd just finished a good meal, sated and lethargic, not in a hurry to leave the table. 

Maybe he couldn't make Rick happy the way Lori probably used to, or the way Michonne might if she and Rick ever went there, but right now he couldn't deny that Rick's face seemed smoother, younger. Maybe more like how he looked back when he was still wearing that cop uniform every day, despite the scruff on his face and the sweaty curls. That had to count for something.

But that wasn't anything he could say to Rick. Instead, he said, "Yeah, you should get some sleep. Ya look like shit." 

God, he couldn't have sounded less cool if he'd tried -his voice came out too thick, wound up catching somewhere mid-sentence. But it made Rick's mouth crack into a lopsided grin, one of his warm ones that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

Daryl decided he'd take that as a win.


End file.
